Stealing Emeralds

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/44841955.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: F/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationship: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Blaise Zabini,
Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Black Malfoy,
Lavender Brown, Rita Skeeter, Astoria Greengrass, Daphne Greengrass, Ginny
Weasley
Additional Tags: BAMF Hermione Granger, Post-Second Wizarding War with Voldemort (Harry
Potter), Possessive Draco Malfoy, Supportive Narcissa Black Malfoy, Daily
Prophet (Harry Potter), Rita Skeeter Bashing, Auror Draco Malfoy, BAMF
Draco Malfoy, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn Hermione
Granger/Draco Malfoy, Adult Hermione Granger, Dark Hermione Granger,
Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy In Love, Domestic Hermione Granger/Draco
Malfoy, Angst, Hermione War Trauma, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual
Content, Romance, Happy Ending, Post-Hogwarts, Good Slytherins, Meddling
Narcissa Black Malfoy, Jealous Draco Malfoy, Smut, professors reacting to
Draco/Hermione relationship, Pansy Parkinson & Ginny Weasley Friendship,
Lucius Malfoy Needs a Hug, Ensemble Cast, Hermione Granger & Pansy
Parkinson Friendship, Eventual Married Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy,
Eventual Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy Parents, Extended Epilogue, POV
Hermione Granger, POV Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger Has a Praise Kink,
Hermione Granger-Malfoy, Hermione Becomes a Malfoy, Draco is a DILF,
DILF Draco Malfoy, Protective Draco Malfoy, Love, Marriage, Fluff, Idiots in
Love, Soulmates, Sexual Content, Banter, Death Eater Attacks, Blood Magic,
soulmate magic, Draco and Hermione are Soulmates, Inappropriate Use of
Malfoy Signet Ring, Hurt/Comfort, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Ron Weasley
Bashing, Dom Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2023-02-07 Updated: 2024-05-09 Words: 117,983 Chapters: 39/40
 Stealing Emeralds
by ktaylorbooks

Summary

When Hermione Granger invents a way to permanently steal another wizard's magic 7 years after
the Battle of Hogwarts, she is paired up with special agent Draco Malfoy to test the punishment on
escaped Death Eaters all while trying to navigate her worsening poison condition due to the cursed
blade of Bellatrix LeStrange and the rising rumors of a romance blooming between the Gryffindor
Princess and the Slytherin Prince.

***

“I don’t know how to make it more clear to you, Granger. You are my sole priority, and fuck
anyone else who gets in my way of keeping you.”
Chapter 1
June 5th, 2005

She still had the bloodied crust of dead Death Eater splattered on the front of her navy robes.

Hermione Granger glanced around to cast a quick scourgify on herself and her newly bought (and
slightly revealing) robes and traipsed through the wrought iron doors of the hidden tavern.
Gleaming low-lights bounced around the space coupled with warm mahogany tables and the scent
of firewhiskey permeated the air.

Her target hadn’t put up much of a fight, but the exhaustion was still seeping into her bones. At
least she hadn’t been the one to finish him off; killing had always been her last resort, and she’d
only had to kill once, in self-defense. She didn’t much like thinking about that night last April.

The bartender caught her eye and he slid an already-poured shot glass of firewhiskey down the
length of the bar to where she stood, prepared to down the entire thing in one go before settling
down to unwind for the night.

The regulars usually left her alone, and she was grateful for it, as she hadn’t sought the bar out for
comfort or companionship.

Though the place was crawling with Voldemort sympathizers who hadn’t been caught up enough to
suffer through a trial or subsequently Azkaban, Hermione could still feel the pierce of some of their
haughty, pure-blood glances.

She ignored the words surely to be whispered beneath their breath.

Even despite holding an Order of Merlin, First Class, being a highly revered Healer at St. Mungo’s,
and, most recently, in line for the position of Executive Senior Secretary for the Department of
Magical Law Enforcement, (just one step below the head of the entire department itself),
Hermione, at age twenty-five, had accomplished more than almost any other wizard her own age,
save for her best friend.

Harry, the boy-who-lived-and-died-and-lived-again as the papers so eloquently named him

following the Battle of Hogwarts, was the most famous wizard in all of the world, with her and Ron
Weasley following behind in close second and third positions.
They were war-torn heroes following the final battle, and while Hermione had staggered through
her final year at Hogwarts afterward and subsequently left to St. Mungo’s for healing for a
completely different reason than trying to find a way to end the mental health battle the war had
caused, Harry had stayed at the Ministry to climb ranks that were wide open to him for every
reason except for his young age, along with Ron whose dream had been to become an Auror with
his best friend.

She had just closed her eyes, the conversations in her head beginning to repeat her last fight with
Ron after their last and final breakup three months ago when a familiar mop of red hair came
through the door.

How dare he? He knew this was her spot. He knew she said she needed space from him, and that
included in their friendship as well.

Apparently, he hadn’t gotten the memo, however, as in behind him trailed Lavender Brown
(heavily scarred and all), Padma and Parvati Patil, and none other than Harry Potter himself.

Hermione had last seen Harry the night before at dinner with Ginny, making plans to meet up with
him later to discuss the raid but she'd decided to have one of the newer Aurors deal with the
paperwork of the failed magic siphoning attempt to grab a much needed pick-me-up at Maralay
alone considering the bar was so far out of the regular for her friends.

Now, however, they all seemed transfixed by the romantic atmosphere and privately seductive
corner booths.

“Well, would you look at that. They’ll let anyone in here these days, won’t they?”

That familiar drawl she hadn’t heard in over a year, the last time she’d had the pleasure being at a
gala he’d hosted for a charity supporting those who’d lost their minds to the cruciatus as well as
other mind-altering dark curses during the war, forcing St. Mungo’s to expand the Janus Thickey
Ward.

She supposed he was finally using his nepotism and the social-climbing prowess of his mother who
was at his side to catch up in popularity amongst the people, though she wasn’t quite sure how he’d
accomplish that considering his track record.

Draco Malfoy sat ram-rod straight beside her with a divot between his eyebrows, his towering
stature leaning up on the bar with both elbows as he locked onto the group entering the bar, all of
them tracing the room with wandering eyes as if they were searching for someone.

Hermione quickly hid her face from their sight before they could catch her.

She’d only wanted a night alone, was that too much to ask?

“Well, I’d have to agree, present company included.”

Malfoy quirked his lips up in a ghost of a smirk and Hermione allowed herself to watch him warily
between the space of one breath and the next.

His blonde hair was reminiscent of his Hogwarts days, though cut to a respectable style that had the
top longer than the sides. No facial hair adorned him, but there was something rugged and uncut
about him in that moment of the dim lights in the bar. Something almost feral.
Was he drunk?

He toyed with the silver signet ring on his middle finger and tossed back a gulp of liquor in his
glass in front of him. When her old childhood bully had appeared she wasn’t sure, but she
definitely wasn’t sticking around long to discover his true motives.

“Looking a bit peaky there, Granger. It’s been too long,” he began, twisting toward her completely
as if blocking out the party he must’ve come from behind him.

Hermione could see the faces of Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott and Astoria
Greengrass to name a few. It looked to be a birthday celebration of sorts.

She cleared her throat and shook her head just as Harry and her friends claimed a seat closer to the
back of the bar and farther away from her.

“One could argue it hasn’t been long enough, Malfoy.”

His laugh startled her enough to look at him. Really, truly look into his eyes, like she had kept
herself from doing for so long.

Since the galas where they were forced to engage in polite, stilted conversation as his mother
gushed over Hermione, clearly trying to edge her way into her good graces for the sake of
propriety, even though she’d been tortured on the woman’s drawing room floor at only seventeen
years old.

Since the trials, where Hermione and Harry were forced upon the stand to recall the events in
Malfoy Manor where Draco Malfoy had refused to identify any of the Golden Trio, giving them
crucial time to escape before Voldemort was ultimately called to the scene to kill them all.

Or worse.

Since the fateful night on his drawing room floor when Hermione was screaming so loud it didn’t
sound real to her ears, like it was all happening inside her head, an arm outstretched in offering,
prayer, despair.

Please, she’d cried.

Please, help me!

None of them helped.

Only one of them looked at her, the boy with haunted eyes. His grey eyes filled with the torture she
was enduring was the only lifeline she found, and she held onto her hatred for him in those
moments, but as she conjured the well of that emotion, she felt it had been sapped dry.

Because in those stolen moments between one red jettison of power from his aunt’s wand and the
silence, Draco Malfoy’s eyes showed understanding. Resignation. Remembrance.

Like he’d suffered the same fate on the very floor Hermione had been writhing on.

So, no, Hermione hadn’t been able to meet his eyes in the years following her torture that had left
her permanently scarred and disfigured.
Just the thought of that night had her scar pulsing and yearning for a drop of Dittany or Murtlap
Essence.

Or a taste of the siphoned magic she’d successfully enacted on one of the escaped Death Eaters.

Yaxley.

She’d cornered him in an alley last April.

She’d towered over him while he wept and soiled himself.

She’d never felt more powerful, even as Harry urged her to get on with it.

The surge of power was nothing of the sort that she’d ever felt before in her life. The only thing she
could attribute it to was the feeling of her wand choosing her that fateful day in Ollivander’s as a
spritely eleven-year-old.

It was the only thing that had stopped the poison’s slow, lecherous crawl up her arm in a black array
of climbing veins tattooed on her skin like a brand not unlike the letters from which the wound had
arisen from.

Her arm hadn’t itched for six months. The poison hadn’t spread for eight.

Now? It was back with a vengeance. Any longer, and the lines crawling up her arm would reach her
heart. It would be far too late then.

In the hazy bar lights with firewhiskey in her system and poison numbing her body, Hermione met
Draco Malfoy’s eyes for the first time in seven years, and what she saw there struck her harder than
the ricochet of a dark curse.

Light blue swirls were decorating the deep grey of his hooded eyes, and the pain resonating there
was stronger than the burn of firewhiskey down her throat.

She couldn’t breathe for a moment, two.

Then he broke the contact and the connection was severed.

“That’s not the nicest thing to say to someone on their birthday, Granger.”

Slight surprise caught her and she found herself glancing back over at the table filled with
Slytherins whose full attention was on their prince sharing a drink with the Gryffindor princess.
Though she could detect no malice from them, that didn’t mean that it wasn’t there—only
concealed.

She knew blood prejudice didn’t just disappear out of the blue, no matter how much she would’ve
liked for that to be true.

She waved down the bartender and nodded at Malfoy beside her, afraid to lay eyes on him once
more.

“Well then,” she said as Rolfe Yelslow deposited their drinks in front of them, tipping hers slightly
towards him before continuing, “this one’s on me. Happy birthday Malfoy.”
They drank in silence, soaking up the alcohol and swimming in the tension filled waters they were
trying to tread around each other.

His elbow was precariously close to her own, but she didn’t pull away, not even as Ron and Harry
sidled up to the bar on her side and she pulled out a few Galleons to cover the drinks.

“That’s my cue. I’d say it was good to see you again Malf—“

She cut herself off. He was gone already, and in his place was a glass with smudged fingerprints.

She didn’t have to turn to glance at the table he’d come from to know that his Slytherin peers had
welcomed him back with open arms despite his previous encounter with *gasp* a Muggleborn
witch, and a Gryffindor, no less.

They only ignored her in situations and places where their ignorance would cost them social
standing. She understood her place with the Purebloods in society just as they understood hers. She
was the galvanizer, the one to bring about true and lasting social change all while managing the
DMLE from her current role as Junior Executive Secretary in the DMLE, a pawn for their charity
soirees and galas, a figurehead to point towards to say, ’see? We support the Mud—Muggleborn!
Give us back our ticket to high society!’

It was nauseating.

“Hermione? Why were you just talking to Malfoy, of all people? Why don’t you come sit with us
and tell us how the raid went tonight!”

Hermione could only stare ahead, blank-eyed, as she scratched her arm through her robes.

“I think I’m going to call it a night. I’ll see you at work tomorrow, Harry.”

She didn’t bother saying goodbye to Ron.

She could’ve sworn a pair of piercing grey eyes followed her the entire way until she was back
outside in the cold before she disapparated on the spot and into the loneliness that was her flat in
the heart of London.

She didn’t make it two steps to the bed before falling where she stood and fell asleep on the plush
carpet before her bed.
 Chapter 2
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

June 15th, 2005

Draco Malfoy glanced down into the files of the fugitives he’d been chasing for the past five years
after his conditional entrance into the Auror department of the Department of Magical Law
Enforcement as an informant that had slowly transformed into an actual career in the department.

Even despite having been at the Ministry for five years, he’d been careful to avoid the Chosen One
and his plus-two additions that followed him around as if he still held the key to saving the entire
Magical population of Britain contained in the scar on his forehead.

All that time of having been so careful, and he’d shattered his silence after one too many
firewhiskeys and a glance at the witch who’d haunted his fucked up nightmares for far too long.

“Ahem. Draco?”

One deep inhale to clear his mind later and he was staring into the effusive and emulative eyes of
his mother whose keen eye had clearly clocked his obvious discomfort. It had been ten days since
he’d spotted her, spoken to her, and still his mind was a jumbled mess of screams, curses and slurs
that stilted his every movement until he choked on the memories.

“Yes, mother?”

“I was asking you which gala you’d like to attend. You do remember our deal, yes?”

Oh, he remembered her deal alright.

“Yes, mother. I remember. What are my choices?”

“Well, there’s the charity foundation for the relocation of House Elves, the Centaur Conservation
Act auction, and then of course there’s the Solstice celebration we’re clearly hosting here at the
manor, but your attendance there is required. We are lucky your father will be able to be in
attendance for it, honestly, even if he will have to stick to the shadows. It’ll still be nice to have
things feel like they used to.”

Draco snorted inelegantly at her words. Things would never feel like they used to, and he was glad
for it.

“Father’s attendance aside, you have agreed to my terms of this deal, at least?”

His mother eyed him primly over the dainty tea cup in her lithe fingers as she tucked a stray piece
of blonde hair behind her ear and considered his words before speaking again.

“Yes, I have agreed to your terms, so long as you adhere to mine. I’ll send over the list of guests on
whichever event you deign to present yourself at and you can send me your list of guests you’d like
to be in attendance as well, bearing the thought that you’ve given it any energy whatsoever since
we last spoke.”
“Of course I have, mother. It is our deal, after all. I’ll consider those I wish to invite. I’ll obviously
be in attendance at the Solstice party, but seeing as I don’t have a choice, I’ll go with the gala for
the House Elves, considering one of the constituents I’m currently ignoring is a key advisor to the
writer of the bill for the Centaur conservation effort. Do we have a deal?”

His mother’s eyes sparkled at his agreeing mood to her demands.

This time next year, he’d be married to a witch in attendance at that bloody House Elf gala.

That was their agreement; he had his pick over any witch in attendance at the gala, and he’d have to
submit his pick no more than three months after the event, otherwise his entire trust and inheritance
would be delivered to one of his uncles, or split evenly amongst them.

It was the ultimatum that he’d come to expect from his father, but his mother?

After his father had been sentenced to Azkaban and had simultaneously been driven half-mad by
the Dementors, the Ministry had decided to be lenient and sentenced Lucius Malfoy to house arrest
for the rest of his life after sending him home with a wand snapped in half, forbidden to ever
practice magic again.

Not that he was in any kind of state to perform it, though. Most days, it was a chore to get him to
eat even a tiny morsel of food or take a sip of water.

All that pain, and still he hadn’t lost his arrogant mind, however, reminding Draco daily of his
duties as the Lord of the Manor since Lucius’ own titles had been stripped, as well as all of his
money.

The vault in Gringott’s that hadn’t been pilfered nearly as thoroughly as the Nott vault had
transferred ownership from Lucius to Draco the moment the sentence had come down the pipeline.

While Draco had received house arrest, a mandatory course to complete his NEWT’s as well as
mandatory mental health healing sessions where he got to talk about his feelings.

“My son. I do believe we have a deal.”

His mother reached out her frail hand draped with a diamond bracelet and the family wedding ring
that would soon be in a box in his pocket.

The gaudy thing stared him down as if a challenger sizing up a not-so-worthy opponent and bile
rose up in his throat.

He lightly grasped his mother’s hand before returning to his files, snapping the damned thing shut
at the sight of Fenrir Greyback’s photo snarling in excited bloodlust while his eyes pierced directly
into Draco’s memories.

The department-wide push for the final arrests of the Death Eater fugitives would begin the next
day, and Draco was keen to get a head-start should any of the Aurors try to call him out on his
knowledge of the cases.

He was going to be the most well-informed informant in the entire bloody Ministry if he had
anything to say about it.

“Well, now that that’s settled, I’m off to see a witch about an ensemble.”
“Please, give Pansy my regards. I love you, Draco.”

His mother’s words gave him pause, but only for a moment before he turned stiffly to give her an
informal bow and returned the sentiment quietly, still unused to the display of affection with his
family.

“And I you, mother.”

I love you, too.

***

“Hermione Jean Granger! You do realize my brother is a right mess after everything, correct?”

Hermione cringed at the slight screeching tone Ginny Weasley had taken on after barging in
through her Floo connection directly into the living room of Hermione’s flat.

She was starting to regret keeping the Floo connection open to 12 Grimmauld Place at all times.

The emergency implications of keeping the connection opened kept her from closing it completely,
as well as the fact that her best friends were only a pinch of Floo powder away, which was
something that had greatly quelled her nerves after deciding to move out on her own after the
disastrous breakup that had left her friend group effectively as splinched as Ron had been during a
particularly hasty disapparition while on the run from Voldemort.

“Yes, Ginny, I’m well aware. Harry’s told me himself more times than I can count, but I can’t help
that I don’t feel the same way about him as he feels about me. It didn’t work out, and we’re both
adults that can hopefully put this in the past, behind us, where it belongs.”

Hermione had barely had time to make it look as if she had actually slept last night instead of
staying up all night reading before Ginny had popped through to complain about her brother.

“I mean honestly, Hermione, it’s like he’s determined to ruin any and all romance between me and
Harry. It’s not my fault he’s miserable!”

Hermione cringed at the words from her friend’s mouth.

“Right, it’s not your fault. It’s mine.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Hermione, I—”

“No, I know you didn’t mean it like that. We weren’t happy, Gin. I honestly don’t think we ever
were. It was like we only clung to each other because of the war, and once the danger passed and
the smoke cleared, I realized that he wasn’t what I needed.”

Ginny sipped on her lukewarm tea and eyed Hermione curiously.

“So, what do you need then?”

 She loosed a breathy laugh that belied her exhaustion.

“Merlin knows. I just know that it’s not Ron. He will always be my best friend, but we had no
passion, no spark. I love him like I love Harry, nothing more.”

“I’m sorry you were unhappy for so long. If I’d have known—”

“You couldn’t have known. I hid it very well. Too well, apparently, if the letters from Ron are
anything to go by.”

Ginny cringed once more before placing her tea down and encouraging Hermione to continue.

Hermione scratched absentmindedly at the scar on her left arm and wished that she had confided in
someone, anyone, about the lingering poison in her system aside from the few medi-witches she’d
asked then subsequently obliviated after asking them what they knew.

Hermione didn’t do well with vulnerability.

“He’s been owling once a week since I moved out. I don’t have the heart to respond, but I always
wave and say hell to him when we pass each other in the halls of the Ministry. It’s…awkward.”

“Well, I heard it’s about to get a lot more awkward.”

“What do you mean?”

Hermione’s heart was in her throat as Ginny responded.

“According to Harry, there’s supposed to be a department wide initiative to finish off the last wave
of the Death Eater fugitives like Greyback and the last Carrow. They obviously want you, Harry
and Ron to spearhead for optics, but there’s supposed to be interdepartmental work and it’s going to
be a huge push with doubled hours for everyone, all hands on deck. Harry said Kingsley requested
the three of you specifically to work together on this.”

“Sometimes, I hate that Harry is so close to the Minister, and then other times, I wish I was Harry
so that I could use his connections to my own benefit.”

“Is it nepotism if he earned it, though?”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“No, no I suppose not. So, a department wide project? Wonder how long it’ll take before I have to
fake a curse to get out of an extremely painful conversation with your brother?”

“Should we bet on it?”

Hermione smiled at the mischievous glint in Ginny’s eyes.

“Definitely.”

Chapter End Notes

Thank you all for reading my first Dramione fic, I hope you're all enjoying it! Until next time!
:)
 Chapter 3

June 16, 2005

Wednesdays were Hermione’s least favorite day of the week.

Never enough time to finish the tasks of the week with just enough time to agonize over the things
she’d already done wrong at the beginning of the week, Hermione was especially angry with this
particular Wednesday that was the catalyst for most of her anxiety.

She had just taken her seat in the large room that normally served as the courtroom for the
Wizengamot for trials and legal proceedings when the head of the DMLE took his spot in the
middle of the room.

The very same spot that Draco Malfoy had taken during his trial, though he’d been locked in a cage
wearing Azkaban robes with gaunt features and a haunted pierce to his silver eyes that roved over
each and every seat in attendance at his trial not unlike Nagini’s slithering body along the grounds
of Hogwarts before a sword sliced her head off her neck.

Hermione shivered at the thought of those eyes trained on her during her testimony for him. He
hadn’t ever thanked her once, nor apologized for his treatment of her during school.

She hadn’t wanted his apology then, nor now. She never would.

Now, Draco Malfoy sat directly across the courtroom avoiding every intrigued eye in the room that
watched him as intently as Hermione did, all of them wondering why he was in attendance except
for Hermione herself.

She knew why he was there. Had known it since he became employed by the DMLE per Harry’s
reenactment of the explosive interview in which Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister of Magic, had
sat in the room while Malfoy spurned his old blood allegiances and vowed to hunt down each and
every Death Eater left in Britain, or any other country, until they were completely eradicated.

Hermione had been curious when she’d see his face in the DMLE. It wasn’t like the department
was large enough for the two of them to avoid each other forever.

Gawain Robards stood and began to address the litany of employees of the DMLE as Hermione
stretched her neck as a way to scan the room for Harry (front row, far left) and Ron (back row,
middle, directly behind Malfoy).

“As many of you now know, we have had an informant from the insurgent group detailing their
formations, strategies and numbers for over five years now, though I’m sure you weren’t aware of
his identity. Today, I want to introduce you to him. Draco Malfoy, please stand.”

The crowd grew uneasy, hushed whispers and looks of incredulity swimming in the faces of her co-
workers and Hermione was just about to shush someone to her left when someone plopped down
into the seat directly to her right.
“What did I miss?”

“Malfoy’s appearance making everyone lose their minds. Where were you?”

Susan Bones brushed her brown hair over the side of her shoulder before turning too-bright eyes on
her.

“Spying. I’ll tell you about it once the show’s over.”

“Whatever you say,” Hermione murmured just as Robards gained control of his employees.

“Think what you will, but if you say it out loud, you’ll answer to me. Malfoy has been an
invaluable asset, and because of his information and research, we’re only a week away from what
could possibly be our final raid to catch the last two high-ranking Death Eaters and destroy the
insurgence once and for all. Now, anyone who wants to argue with putting an end to this horrible
period in our history can stand up and leave, and know that in doing so they will be leaving their
jobs behind.”

The room grew quiet just as Hermione allowed herself to glance at Malfoy for the first time since
entering the courtroom and noticing his presence.

She hadn’t even had to look at him fully to know that it was him; that unmistakable shock of white-
blonde hair had permeated her line of vision and she’d chosen to avert her eyes before allowing
herself to fall into a gaze that could kill her.

The very same gaze that had saved her from falling into madness at the hands of his aunt.

She wasn’t sure, but there was a whisper of a memory that tickled her mind telling her something
about that night in Malfoy Manor wasn’t as she remembered.

Malfoy was outfitted in plain black Auror robes and his hair was perfectly coiffed and styled. His
frame was large and towering, his chin held high even despite the anger radiating off all who sat in
the courtroom aside from Hermione herself and Robards.

Even Susan was shooting him a small glare, her eyes narrowed in slight contempt which made
Hermione want to laugh. Susan could barely stand killing flies, so her hateful glare towards Malfoy
obviously lacked intent.

Ron’s glare, however…

Ron had never fully gotten over Fred’s death, and the subsequent trials that had seemingly gone
easy on certain Death Eaters had plucked away at his compassion and empathy until he was a husk
of the kind yet frustrating and clueless boy he had once been.

Of course, Ron couldn’t have known that the Death Eaters that had ‘gotten out’ of their punishment
were actually sent to Hermione’s lab where she’d had Aurors watching them day and night so that
she could experiment new ways to strip them of their magic.

Little did those Aurors know that their magic hadn’t simply been funneled away to fuel the magical
world, no. Little did they know that it was siphoned directly into Hermione’s own magical core that
filled her up with power unimaginable, to anyone else who wasn’t on their deathbed.

The magic siphoning wasn’t a cure, but rather a stalling of the inevitable.
Hermione Granger was dying, and for all her secret projects and dark artifacts, she couldn’t for the
life of her discover the true cure to keep her on this mortal plane, and she couldn’t have cared less
that cowardly Death Eaters were suffering to keep her alive.

Maybe Hermione had lost all her compassion and empathy after the war, too.

Draco Malfoy must’ve had a death wish sitting so close to Ronald Weasley.

Regardless, Robards went along a detailed plan without missing a beat even despite the hostile
environment his ‘informant’ was creating.

Hermione remembered the way he’d stared at her the night of his birthday not long ago at all, the
way his silver eyes had danced in the ambiance of the bar while she’d tried desperately to
remember why exactly they’d hated each other in the first place.

Until he’d opened his lecherous mouth, of course.

Hermione might’ve been jaded and a little off course, but she was nothing if not practical when it
came to setting her mind off things she knew were bound to be terrible for her, and Draco Malfoy
was one of those things.

No matter how unfortunate it was that his cut jawline and aquiline nose fit his face in perfect
symmetry, like he’d been carved from marble itself.

Once Robards had finished his droning speech about the plan that Hermione had already
memorized thrice over, he turned the floor out for questions which there were none, thankfully, and
then they were all dismissed.

It all happened so quickly.

Harry, who’d been seated closer to her than Ron, had joined her and Susan on their way out of the
courtroom in a bottle-neck created by the tons of Aurors desperate to escape the room and bound
outside in the sunshine of what was shaping up to be a gloriously beautiful day in London, not like
Hermione could enjoy it.

Ever since her affliction, she’d grown to become almost a recluse when it came to the sun. She’d
never been so sensitive to it, and even only a few minutes under the blazing rays had her stomach
churning and her skin near blistering.

She vaguely wondered if she was turning into a vampire thanks to the poison in her veins from
Bellatrix’s cursed blade, but she showed no signs of pointy teeth or a craving of blood, so she
shoved that ridiculous notion to the side. For the moment.

“Hermione, are you coming with us to the Burrow tonight for dinner?”

“Of course, it’s Fleur’s birthday after all. I wouldn’t miss that.”

“Good. Well, Ginny’s complaining about Al always trying to bite James, so we might stick Teddy
and Victorie with the kids while we adults eat.”

It was as Hermione was delighting in the tales of her two godsons that a shock of red hair flared
across her vision, and then the shouting began.
“What on earth—”

“Death Eater scum!”

That was definitely Ronald’s voice.

“—should be rotting in Azkaban, along with your murderer of a father!”

Hermione didn’t know what came over her. Didn’t know how she appeared directly in the midst of
the fight with Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy.

Didn’t even feel the tug on her robes from Harry, nor hear the concerned lilt of Susan’s voice as
Hermione took one step forward, then another, then another, as the spells suddenly went flying.

A stunner was thrown out, then a binder, all defensive spells while Ron was tossing out hexes like
he wasn’t in his place of work.

It only took Hermione one binding spell on Ron to get him to stop.

“Mione!”

“You’re acting like a child in your place of business. Surely you realize this is no such time or place
for this; take your petty childhood squabbles outside of the work place.”

“I agree, Miss Granger.”

Hermione stiffened as her boss’ voice floated down to her ears from directly behind her.

“I agree, so much so, that I believe we should all put our prejudices aside. That said, Malfoy—you
and Potter will be on the specialty team, led by Granger, with Weasley on support on a need-to-
know basis. I can’t wait to read the reports of your cooperation.”

The ‘or else’ was heavily implied in his tone.

Hermione didn’t bother undoing Ronald’s body-binding. It was nothing less than he deserved.

She only wished she could’ve ignored Draco Malfoy’s eyes blazing in her direction hotter than the
inferno from fiendfyre.

***

Later that night, Hermione found correspondence for yet another charity ball.

She really should’ve cut down her society appearances, but each time she showed, the money
flowed for the causes that were nearest and dearest to her heart, and the relocation for House Elves
was the gala of the year for that cause.

She quickly wrote her RSVP and tried not to cringe at the fact that the letter would be going back
to none other than Narcissa Malfoy.
It was her event, after all.
 Chapter 4
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

June 17th, 2005

The next day after the debacle at the Ministry with Ronald and Malfoy, Hermione was more
desperate than ever to lose herself in her work, so when the auxiliary Aurors brought in a known
and previously convicted Death Eater, Hermione abandoned her desk to slip on her navy blue robes
around her shoulders and marched down to the deep dank black abyss of the cells where the
prisoners were hosted awaiting trial.

The cells weren’t nearly as unseemly as the name suggested; they were kept well fed, clothed, and
had all the necessary means to survive, but due to strong wards, weren’t able to perform wandless
magic as their wands had all been confiscated upon arrest.

Hermione had just wandered into her preferred room of choice, all her tools laid out before her,
when Theodore Nott stumbled out of the room with a haunted look in his eyes.

“Alright, Nott?”

His head whipped up, light brown tendrils of hair falling into his chocolate brown eyes that were
slightly widened and red with unshed tears before he cleared himself of any and all emotion as he
faced her, clearly surprised to find her down there amongst the most hardened of criminals.

“Fine, Granger. What’re you doing down here?”

“I’m taking point on this one. Who do we have?”

Theo seemed to shudder as he took another glance behind him into the room and Hermione had to
crane her neck up just a tad to see his face better in the low lights of the cells.

“Dear old Nott Senior. My father.”

“Oh.”

Because what else could she say?

‘I’m sorry your father’s a convicted Death Eater and renowned Muggle killer, so I’m here to steal
his magic from him permanently, so that he’ll become that which he despises most’?

No, ‘oh’ was the only acceptable thing to say in that moment.

“You’re not here to interrogate him again are you? They already used the legal amount of
Veritaserum on him, so—”

“No, nothing like that. I’m sorry, but it’s really a need-to-know basis.”
And Kingsley and Robards had hand-picked who needed to know, and Theodore Nott was not one
of them.

Not even Ron had been able to get clearance, as only she and Harry and a few trusted elite Aurors
were able to know the truth and were allowed to help clean up the…mess left after the ritual was
done, and it was due to his inability to know the truth of Hermione’s work that her relationship with
Ron further devolved into petty fights and angry tantrums thrown by the man that she thought she’d
marry once upon a time.

If only he knew just how desperate she was to find a cure to her ailment that she’d kept hidden
from him. It was oh so easy to break up with him any time he decided he wanted to take their
relationship to the next level physically. She knew the moment he spotted the blackened veins
crawling up her arm that it would be over.

That was why she’d studied to dutifully at St. Mungo’s underneath the most decorated of Healers,
and still there was no respite in sight for the poison. It was too easy to keep it to herself; after all,
the entirety of the war, she’d pushed her own wants and needs to the side to help everyone else.

Maybe that was why she’d finally decided enough was enough, had decided to go on an adventure
to try and find a cure once and for all.

That fateful day two years ago when Hermione had hit a snag in her research to save her own life
and decided to travel to Scotland’s highlands and fell into a cave laden with magical energy had
been one that she would never forget.

The energy had entered her mind, attacking the poison in her arm, whispering the directions of
what she needed to do to accomplish her task as if she were a long lost old friend.

Later, in her readings, she would entertain the idea that the energy was of the fairies of Merlin’s
Craig, singing to her and healing her with their powers and giving her a way to keep her body and
mind in a semi-healed place while she siphoned the magics from those who practiced the Dark
Arts.

She’d woken up from the magical coma and found that two days had passed, but the tools she
needed to accomplish her task were already in her possession in her London flat, but it was the
chant and blood ritual that was needed to complete it.

And she was about to do it to her co-worker’s father.

She’d always liked Nott, his ability to put his past behind him and start anew in the Ministry where
so many other children of notorious Death Eaters were unable to distance themselves from their
ancestry.

“Right. Well, good luck Granger, you’re going to need it with that cranky old bastard in there.”

She gave Theo a tight-lipped smile and walked into the room, the skylight already opened and the
full moon on display for the beginning of the ritual.

“And what’s this? A Mudblood to do my interrogation? And I thought I’d seen it all.”

Hermione didn’t respond to the man, only veered off to the left of him where the table had been set
up as the iron door slammed shut behind her, leaving Hermione in an enclosed space with one of
the most vile of Death Eaters; a man who hunted Muggles for sport. He wasn’t worth Hermione’s
breath.

“Hello? Are you as slow as the rest of your ilk? I am speaking to you here.”

Hermione grabbed the large jar of salt off the table first and began encircling the man in the center
of the room hanging from chains distended from the ceiling.

The salt circle seemed to rattle Nott Sr. as he immediately shut up upon sight of the binding agent.

Hermione didn’t flinch as she pulled her wand out and performed a wordless cutting charm on her
palm, the scarlet blood dripping from her hand as she extended it over the barrier of the salt circle.

“What in Salazar’s name are you—“

Nott Sr. didn’t get a chance to answer as the spirits called forth from the in-between worlds at
Hermione’s words as they fell from her mouth in a different language, though they all sounded the
same in her mind.

Heal me, o er’ the ancient lands,

The promised hands
Perform the rites of spirits past
To meld the dying to the light at last

Take that which is not given,

Absorb that which is undeserved
Taste the power unbidden,
Seep into the well’s reserves

Take the Dark and make it light,

Spin the tales of moonlit hallows
Imbibe in the nectar of the night,
Send the evil to the gallows!

All throughout the chanting, the wind seeped into the room through the opened skylight as the
clouds dispersed from the moon, giving the room a clear and unobstructed view of the magic
suffusing the room, seeping from the Death Eater inside toward Hermione’s body as if a tendril of
light searching for a bit of shadow to cling to.

Nott Sr. sat, his eyes unfocused and glassy as the unmistakable scent of urine permeated the air, and
Hermione wrinkled her nose but kept on chanting, repeating the ancient words over and over as
more of his vibrant green light jettisoned from his body and speared itself into her.

His power unfurled from his chest, where Hermione always assumed one’s soul to reside, and it
tucked itself into her being as if an old friend coming home after a long journey away.

It tasted of ash and honey, the memories of each dark curse flowing over in her mind as she
witnessed through the eyes of each kill, Nott Sr. destroying his magical core and turning the
beautiful energy into something twisted and dark with each blow of Cruciatus and Avada Kedavra.

There was a particularly painful memory that had Hermione shaking and tears slipping down her
face as a powerful Imperius curse was placed upon a little boy no older than eight with the most
beautiful light brown hair and tawny eyes, forcing him to slit the neck of his favorite dog after he’d
ripped at the curtains—

“Please—please, stop! Make it stop! Make it STOP!”

The man was in excruciating pain, but Hermione was floating on clouds made of cotton as she
pulled her wand out to slice his palm as well with a cutting charm, his blood needed in order to
perform the final act of the rite.

“This is an abomination! You are an offense against nature!”

Hermione felt a smile tilt her lips upward as she stared at the true monster, his fear slicking her
resolve as someone pounded on the door behind her, but the lock had already slid into place, and
her wards were holding steady.

No one else would be getting in—or out—unless she closed the wards herself, or died, thus cutting
off her magical link to her spells permanently.

She didn’t think it was going to come to that, however, as the moon hit its peak and the Death
Eater’s power fused with her own, twining itself around her magical core making her hair float
about her head and her eyes glow an eerie green light that reflected off the iron chains on the old
man’s chains.

The thought mildly that the glow was the color of emeralds—deep verdant and brilliant in its
vibrance.

And all at once—it snapped.

The power ceased its journey from the Death Eater in the middle of the room and coiled around
Hermione like a full-body halo of neon green light as it swirled and danced all around her, its
effervescent trails lifting her off the ground as she floated in the air and basked in the
weightlessness and transcendence of taking another’s magic for her own.

The energy burrowed under her skin and the pain was immediate as it interacted with the poison
under her skin—arcing bolts of agony twisted her until she was a writhing mess in mid-air while
Theo’s father watched her in horror and dread at the fact that he could no longer feel his magical
core any longer. At the realization that Hermione Granger had stolen it right out from under him.

She briefly wondered how Kingsley had ever signed off on this project—she knew that Azkaban
was growing overcrowded and the idea of stopping another overzealous megalomaniac from
starting yet another war was always on the forefront of the Minister’s mind, but stealing someone’s
magic permanently?

There were too many security concerns—what if someone else figured out how to do it—the wrong
side?

But Hermione was desperate. There was no other way that had kept the poison to stop spreading,
even if each time it seemed less and less efficient, the effects lasting for a shorter and shorter time
each ritual that was performed, but there was no other remedy that she’d found that had even
touched the poison whatsoever.
She sagged to the floor as the new energy coiled itself around her poisoned arm like a snake
preparing to strike and she could almost feel the moment the poison ceased its slow crawl toward
her heart.

She didn’t give the man in the center of the room another look as she disabled her wards and strode
to the door, stopping in shock as she came face to face with a platinum haired ex Death Eater who
was so tall that she had to crane her neck painfully to catch sight of his eyes, something she had
never done before, even as they shared the same orbit most times in social circles at events his
mother had forced him to attend.

“Malfoy,” she started, unsure of what he was doing there exactly, until she remembered the fact that
Robards had declared him ‘need-to-know’, but even then, she wondered how he’d felt when he’d
been fully briefed—that Hermione Granger herself was sucking the magic of Death Eaters and
keeping it for herself.

She’d kept that part to herself, however.

According to Kingsley, Hermione only absorbed the magic, but then it slowly dissipated from her
never to be seen—or used—again. Each magical test of her energy levels after each siphoning had
proven that.

She assumed she could’ve become one of the most powerful witches ever to have lived had the
extra energy she absorbed not been depleted upon immediately entering her system to slow the
poison in her body.

“Granger. Here for clean up duty.”

Ah, so they’d sent him in for the Obliviation, as well as the Legilimens to make sure every piece of
her involvement in his magic-stealing was scrubbed completely from his mind.

They would force the Death Eaters to relegate themselves to a life in the Muggle world, any
memory of the magic siphoning perfectly extracted from their heads never to be accessed again,
lest anyone find out the truth of how to steal someone’s magic permanently.

Even the elite Aurors assigned to the job were forced to undergo weekly Occlumency training in
order to keep their shields up in case they were interrogated, and if they didn’t pass, they were
Obliviated and assigned to a new case, and there usually wasn’t anyone to take their place.

Kingsley and Robards might’ve been paranoid, but with the last—and most brutal—faction of
Death Eaters still on the loose, they weren’t going to take any chances.

She stepped to the side just as Malfoy stepped forward, his imposing stature invading her space just
as the toll of the rite slammed into her.

She didn’t think as she reached out—intending to grasp the edge of the door—but instead, her hand
fell upon an arm. An arm that was more solid than any wall she’d ever felt before, corded with
muscles she was sure she’d never intentionally isolated before in any workout of any kind.

Malfoy’s deathly quiet disposition had her glancing back up at his face once more, though the stony
blankness of his features before had transformed into that of a glare she would’ve killed to never be
the recipient of ever again.
Even despite her seemingly all-powerful mentality due to the copious amounts of magic she’d just
absorbed, she suddenly felt all too vulnerable standing before Draco Malfoy’s countenance, her
hand still clutching his arm in a death grip. The same arm that must’ve held the faded and mangled
Dark Mark.

Still, she couldn’t bring herself to look away or cower in the face of his anger.

They were supposed to be learning how to get along, after all. How to work together.

His eyes were silver fire on hers, soaking her up and wringing her out in the very next instance. His
face was hardened steel, a trap of secrets she’d love to tease out if only to discover what lay
underneath those mountains of fiery resolution.

Though her hand was on his clothed arm, it was almost as if she could feel his skin burning so cold
through the fabric that it was freezing her to the core, right to her magical center that had only just
been amplified.

Could he feel it, see the newfound energy in her eyes that had only just shone bright green in the
dark night?

“T-they sent you to Obliviate him?”

“Looks that way, doesn’t it, Granger?”

His voice gave nothing away, a blank slate that left no room for naive questions.

Still, she wondered why they trusted him so much, considering the fact that he wasn’t a sworn
Auror.

“Why did they send you?”

From his mouth he emitted a bone-deep sigh that stirred the small hairs around Hermione’s face
that had fallen free of her tight braid she’d woven the strands into that morning.

“Maybe because I’m the best Legilimens and Occlumens this Godsdamned department has ever
seen, and they know how to play to their strengths. Now, if you’re done gawking,” he bit out before
reaching down to place his free hand atop Hermione’s, his fingers prying hers off his arm as if it
were nothing but a disgusting nuissance to have Hermione Granger’s fingers touching the priceless
robes of Almighty Draco Malfoy.

“I was not gawking,” she tried, her voice coming out in a high-pitched keen that made Hermione
cringe, but she placed her newly freed hand on her hip, keeping Malfoy from walking forward to
finish the job with Theo’s father.

There was that soul-weary sigh from Malfoy’s lips once more—the sound falling from pink, plump
lips that didn’t belong on a mouth that foul.

“Could’ve fooled me, Granger. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

He shoulder-checked her like she wasn’t his complete and total superior—well, not technically
since he wasn’t in a permanent Ministry position and he was only classified as an informant, but
still—she was his superior and he’d acted as if she were nothing more than common filth on the
sidewalk that he couldn’t wait to be rid of.
He whistled lowly once he reached Nott Sr. Hermione didn’t know why she was still there, standing
in the doorway when she had mountains of paperwork to attend to.

“You sure did a number on this one. How many does this make, Granger, six? Seven?”

“Seven.”

“Mm. And I’m sure the Golden Girl is using her newfound magic reserves for good, yes?”

“I don’t absorb the magic into my own magical core, Malfoy. The magic I siphon from the Death
Eaters has no effect on me; I am simply the vessel that extracts it from those Kingsley brings to me,
and then it is released back into the world. It gives me no ‘upper hand’ so to speak. I wouldn’t still
continuing to be doing this if it did.”

“Why,” he started wryly as he threw a dry look behind him to stare at her, and the obscene intensity
in his eyes were almost enough to knock her off her feet, “because it’s not fair?”

“Yes,” she scoffed out, because it wasn’t. It wouldn’t have been fair if it gave her some kind of
advantage over her peers, but as it was, all the magic was doing was keeping her alive while her
energy grew more and more latent as each day passed.

“If anything, it takes more out of me that what it gives back. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to
finish my paperwork on this session.”

“Session,” he breathed under his breath distastefully, as if the word was an insult to him—an
affront.

“Yes, session. Is there a problem with that word?”

Nott Sr. slumped to the ground after Malfoy released his shoulders and Hermione only had a
moment’s reprieve before Malfoy stood before her, anger dancing across his moonlit features. She
swallowed her gasp as he opened his mouth to berate her once more.

“You make it seem so clinical Granger. Don’t disguise what you’re doing here—you’re stealing the
very essence of what it is to be a Wizard and turning it into something morbid, something
grotesque. You’re living up to your heritage, Granger, and I never thought I’d live to see the day.”

“And just what is that supposed to mean?”

Hermione’s blood was seething.

If Malfoy wanted to revert back to his old blood prejudices, now was not the time to be getting into
a spar with him, especially not as the new magic in her system was giving everything it had on the
poison. Usually when it fought, the poison fought back, and she needed rest and comfort in order to
deal with the pain that came from its attack on her body.

“You’re just as bloodthirsty as the Muggles you’re descended from, not that I should be surprised. I
just thought you had more class than this.”

“Class? You think cursing a small child to murder their only pet as punishment to be classy? What
of using Crucio on innocents—hunting unknowing Muggles for sport? Using the Killing Curse on
those who don’t agree with you? Do these instances scream ‘class’ to you? Because each magical
act has memory, and I witnessed them all through that man’s magic. Now tell me—does someone
like that truly deserve to have magic in this world?”

“That’s not your decision to make. You’re not allowed to play God, Granger.”

“Too late, I already am. And what, exactly, are you going to do about it, Malfoy?”

The fire sputtered in his eyes before his defiance wore out, but it was too late. They were standing
far too close.

His nose was damn near touching hers, his minty breath dancing across her cheekbones as her neck
ached from staring up into his molten eyes that were far too guarded for someone who was only
twenty-five.

Although, didn’t her eyes show the exact same walls that his did, only disguised by the faux-
cheerfulness she painted onto her face as a mask to dilute the concerns of those around her?

She suddenly felt as if she were staring into a mirror that showed her most perfect opposite, though
there were far too many similarities there for her comfort.

“Get out. I need to work.”

She tilted her head to the side as a slight smile tipped her lips up on the side. She always did love a
challenge.

“Make me.”

Her whispered words echoed off the walls in the cells, and for a moment she could only hear the
raucous beating of her traitorous heart and the drip drip drip of a water leak in the corner of the
room, the rasping breath of the man whose magic was currently helping her fight for her life, and
the roaring in her ears screaming at her to escape and run for her life, far away from Draco Malfoy
and all his enigmatic characteristics.

A lone strand of platinum blonde hair fell into his eyes and she fought the urge to reach up and
brush it away when a loud SLAM bounced off the walls, and then they were springing apart as if
they were doing something untoward, as if they were doing something inappropriate by only
simply arguing.

The twist in her gut as she glanced at him adjusting his robes told her that it wasn’t only arguing,
no matter what her brain tried to tell her.

“Granger, Kingsley is asking for you in his office.”

Theo Nott’s voice ripped Hermione from her reverie, and she hurried to the entrance to try and
block him from seeing his father in the state she’d left him, but it was no use. He’d seen.

“Shit, Granger. What did you do to him?”

His father was in a defeated lump on the ground, whimpering, rocking back and forth with tears
and urine dripping off of him.

“It’s best if you don’t know.”

 Theo’s empty face hardened as he glanced to her, then to Malfoy before nodding and turning away,
but the pinch in her heart still remained.

She never understood why she felt guilt for doing what she had to do to survive, but then, she never
did enjoy making anyone suffer, even if they did deserve it.

Without another glance back at Draco Malfoy, she turned on her heel and exited the cells, her mind
whirring and refusing to stop thinking of a certain blonde ex Death Eater, no matter how hard she
tried.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you all for reading Stealing Emeralds! This is my first Dramione fic, but definitely not
my first book, as I've written about 14 books to completion on Wattpad and have been in their
paid stories and stars programs since 2018 and the Creator's program since last year. I plan to
have this fic be very very long, with 3 separate parts, each part being around 30 chapters long.
I hope you'll all stick around for this fic! Thanks for reading! -Kristen :)
 Chapter 5
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

June 20th, 2005

“Tell me again, Pansy dearest, why you decided to be my de-facto date for the evening when snake-
slayer Longbottom was practically salivating over you last week?”

“Because, Draco dearest, I can’t have any one man thinking I’m too available. You needed a date to
save you from the salivating mothers of perfect, Pureblooded daughters, did you not?”

Draco huffed and sipped some of the water in his glass as—his previous fall off the wagon on his
birthday notwithstanding—he’d been sober for almost six months. Funny what a frizzy haired
Muggleborn could do which forced him to try his hand at alcohol once more, even despite the
disastrous effects it had placed upon his body the next morning. His friends were still disappointed
in him for that one, but no more than he was with himself.

“Fair point, Parkinson.”

“Tell me about this deal you have with your mother.”

Draco sighed heavily, his head swiveling as he scanned the room once more to ensure that his pick
of witches were arriving as planned. He didn’t put it past his mother to disregard his choices for
those in attendance just to force his hand into choosing someone she desired more for him.

“I gave her a list of eligible witches I wished to see here at this gala. I am to choose one in three
months to court and charm and impress with my dazzling wealth and charisma which will then lead
to a spontaneous engagement, thus resulting in said witch bearing the spawn of yet another Malfoy
and all will be right in the world when there is a rightful heir to the house of Malfoy. The end.”

Pansy snorted in a rather uncouth way into her hand which she hid behind her sparkling
Champagne glass. Draco’s mouth watered and a bead of sweat gathered at his hairline at the
thought of just a taste of even a tiny drop of alcohol—but no, he needed to stay sober.

A drunk Draco Malfoy was recipe for disaster, and the proof of that was splashed all over the Daily
Prophet who, thanks to the evil bint Rita Skeeter, had declared Draco nothing but a child borne of
nepotism and villainy. They weren’t wrong, but the fact that he was trying to change his image
should’ve accounted for something, he deduced.

If only the rest of society believed that.

He was too rigid, strict, and connected to the Dark to be accepted in circles that largely revolved
around the Light, and he’d gone against the Dark far too many times publicly to ever be formally
accepted back into Pureblood Society properly.
Sure, there were the money-hungry witches with ruthless mothers throwing their daughters in his
path for his wealth, but not for his name.

He would be asked to dance, to hold a conversation regarding the weather or Quidditch, but
politics? The fathers of the girls his mother was throwing at him would’ve rather keeled over from
one too many atrocious flavors of Bertie Bott’s every flavor beans than ever risk being spotted
discussing the Ministry’s new policies on Dark Magic.

It was just as well; Draco didn’t hold the views of Pureblood ‘polite’ society anymore.

Muggleborns weren’t beneath him, or anyone. In fact, there was one infuriatingly intelligent
Muggleborn who held her own far easier than any Pureblood witch he’d been in the company of
ever since—well, ever.

“Ah, there my two favorite people are.”

“Hey, What about me?”

Theodore Nott had just ambled up to Draco and Pansy with Blaise Zabini in tow, the latter looking
rather sloshed from Draco’s expert opinion, and blasted his friends with the charming smile that
Draco knew had won the affections of the darker skinned man beside him.

“Well, you’re my boyfriend. You don’t count. They’re my two favorite people.”

“Ah. Right. That makes so much more sense,” Blaise countered with a placating expression, patting
the back of the slightly inebriated Theo while Draco and Pansy could only watch on with amused
glances.

“This crop of witches this year is disappointing, Draco. Are you sure you told Narcissa to invite
Astoria and Daphne? It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other.”

Draco tensed at the name of his ex-girlfriend.

“No, I didn’t tell her to invite them, though I’m sure she invited them nonetheless. You know how
my mother loves to torture me.”

Pansy took the opportunity to smack Draco on the arm.

“Tori and Daph are wonderful witches, and you’d do well to remember that. Too bad you won’t be
able to remedy your mistakes from the past; I doubt Daphne will let you within a foot of her sister
after what you did.”

“I told you, I was half out of my mind during that point in my life. I have since gotten act together
and will apologize to her eventually.”

“Well, there’s something you don’t see everyday.”

Everyone turned to follow Theo’s line of sight after he interrupted Draco’s conversation with Pansy
to find a stunning witch gliding down the pearlescent staircase of Malfoy Manor as if she owned
the place which, where Draco’s deed in his vault was concerned, she did not.

Had she gone upstairs to use a private restroom, or—

Draco’s mother descended only two steps behind the woman, who’s eyes were glittering with a
stunning clarity that Draco had only witnessed once before, during Fourth Year at a particular Yule
Ball—

“If I may have everyone’s attention! I would like to thank each and every one of you for your
wonderful donations to this lovely cause—the Relocation and Protection of House Elves Act,
recently passed into law by none other than one Miss Hermione Granger, who we are so thankful to
have in attendance with us. I would also like to highlight her as this evening’s guest of honor as she
has pledged to match this event’s donations on behalf of herself, Aurors Harry Potter and Ron
Weasley, and the Ministry of Magic itself. Please, raise your glasses in celebrating our guest of
honor.”

Draco’s hand rose slightly before realizing his was empty and quickly reached for a glass on a
passing floating tray and took in the Golden Girl glimmering under the shine of millions of
magically fabricated stars—nothing but the best for his mother’s events.

Draco swallowed hard over a lump that had appeared the moment he laid eyes on the witch and
cursed whatever higher-up had assigned him to work alongside her. There were too many factors
and too much history. He wasn’t sure he could bear it.

But the moment her eye seemed to catch his and a spark of fire lit her from within with a deadly
gleam to her features, he knew one thing for certain—he was going to do everything within his
power to make sure she knew what kind of man he was now, no matter how much he earned her ire.

He’d quite grown to like her anger, anyways.

***

“Blech. This expensive Champagne is really starting to damage my refined sensibilities.”

“Ginny Weasley, since when have you ever held any refined sensibilities?”

The two witches shared a quiet laugh while Hermione downed the rest of her glass in one go,
uncaring of the eyes watching her.

She was in mixed company.

She’d noted the ex-Death Eaters and their families in attendance the moment she’d stepped through
the Floo, but Narcissa Malfoy had quickly engaged her in a most rousing conversation about the
rights of House Elves that Hermione had lost all reservations about the woman almost immediately.

The fact that the gala was being held in the main ballroom with the doors thoroughly shut to the
drawing room that had most likely been redecorated (as had the rest of the manor, from what
Hermione could tell so far) told Hermione quite a few things about her host before ever speaking to
her.

How such a warm and caring woman had lived over twenty-five years married to one Lucius
Malfoy and his particular brand of sneering evilness, she would never know, but she didn’t fault
Narcissa for her choice of husband.

Oh, yes. She’d asked her to call her ‘Narcissa’. Like they were old friends, Hermione quickly
appeased the witch, though she wasn’t quite sure why she felt the need to earn her approval.

Perhaps it was due to her constant need for praise from her Elders. Yes, that must’ve been it.

“So, since when did you and Lady Malfoy Slytherin become best friends?”

Ginny’s red eyebrows went up and Hermione rolled her eyes, wiping her palms down the
shimmering golden fabric of her thin strapped floor-length gown she’d chosen to wear in lieu of
dress robes, which had been a correct decision, as only the stuffiest and most staunch Purebloods in
the room had decided to wear modest and outdated dress robes.

Narcissa wasn’t one of them.

Neither, Hermione noticed with a flicker of disdain and curiosity, had Draco Malfoy.

“We aren’t best friends, Gin, she’s just being…extremely nice and courteous. It’s a fine change of
pace from the Pureblood supremacy and torture.”

Ginny had the sense to choke on her obscenely large gulp of Champagne.

The clock struck midnight far too soon for the two witches who had yet to even set foot on the
dance floor thanks to the mingling.

It was ‘yes, nice to meet you. Oh, no, I didn’t singlehandedly save the Wizarding world, it was a
group effort, truly. Oh, yes I’d love to attend your birthday party, however I am afraid I have been
terribly busy since—yes, yes, the saving of the Wizarding world, right.’

It was a different feel than the Ministry which was interspersed with diversity; she was unsure
whether she was to get a tearful hug proclaiming her heroism or a sneer and a slur spat behind her
back once she’d passed a particularly old-fashioned witch or wizard.

“It’s that late already? I promised Harry I’d be home for a nightcap by eleven! Oh, Hermione, I
don’t want to rush you, I know you’ve still got some pocket change to strangle for the cause, but
—“

“Ginny, please go, don’t worry about me. I’ll chat up Luna or Neville, I haven’t been able to speak
with them all night with all the ‘strangling’ of pocket books I’ve been doing.”

The redhead gave Hermione a scrutinizing look before asking once more if she was sure, which
Hermione quickly waved off.

Her glamour on her arm and the rest of her scars were holding strong, her magic pulsing around her
in a green aura that seemed to light her from within in an ethereal, incandescent shimmer, her
health never more pristine than directly after a magic siphoning.

“If you’re sure, I suppose I can go and catch Harry before bed before he kills me. It’s my first night
out since I had Al and eighteen months is entirely too long to go without having at least one night
without my children. I love them Hermione, so much. I really do. But three boys? Three?! It hasn’t
helped that Teddy thinks he’s the boss of all of us, either, no matter how many times we tell him
 he’s only seven and—oh, well, you’ve heard the spiel already so many times you could probably
present a speech on our family dynamics at this point, couldn’t you?”

Hermione could only laugh in response before sobering up and pasting a very serious look on her
face, though she was bubbling with amusement under the surface.

“To be fair Gin, I could present a speech on which writing utensil is better—the quill and ink, or
Muggle pens and pencils.”

“Touchè, Granger. Alright, well, though I’m loathe to leave you in this snake pit our illustrious
guests deem a home, my own home calls. Write me once you’re back safe, yes?”

Hermione leaned forward to place a kiss on either side of her best friend’s cheeks and then she
wafted away in a flurry of Gryffindor red sparkles and tulle and then Hermione was alone in a sea
of glitter and pomp and circumstance, and she was suddenly devoid of oxygen.

Her mind kept straying to a room where her innocence and health was stripped from her in one fell
swoop and the panic she’d assumed was kept at bay suddenly reared its ugly head.

She had to get out of there.

She’d only just turned in a wide arc searching for the Floo she’d come through when she stumbled
right into a hard chest, the body connected to it roiling with waves of Dark Magic that sang in
response to the connection it made with the darkness she’d siphoned only a few days before.

She looked up into steel grey eyes that matched those of the man who’d accosted her because of
her mission, but instead of belonging to the son, she found herself caught in the snare of the father.

Lucius Malfoy was a snake who didn’t shed his skin, and he was glaring down at her with the
impassive sneer he’d always used for her, but this time, it was different.

She felt the beady eyes of every guest in attendance watching them.

She took a deep breath, steeled her resolve, reined in the power that was begging to reach out and
strike between his eyes until she Imperio’d him to walk away from her and never approach her ever
again, but she pulled back.

Unforgivables were just that—Unforgivable.

She’d simply have to curse him with her eyes, wit, and charm.

She only hoped he didn’t take a page out of the book of his dead sister-in-law and Crucio her and
carve her up right there on the floor of the ballroom.

She wasn’t sure she could handle another scar.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you for everyone who's joining me on my wild ride of a fic! I'm hoping to post at least
once a week as mental and physical health allows, but 7-10 days is usually going to be the
norm! I hope you're all enjoying this story, please let me know what you think in the
comments!! -Kristen :)
 Chapter 6
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

June 17th, 2005

Lucius Malfoy eyed Hermione as if she were nothing but a mere curiosity, but an intriguing one at
that.

“Miss Granger. How lovely to make your acquaintance. I am so glad our previous…unfortunate
history together hasn’t kept you from celebrating such a worthy cause with my wife.”

She shivered.

His voice was like grating steel over a smooth whetstone, the dull edge of its blade ever sharpening.

“Mr. Malfoy. Yes, what a worthy cause it is. Your wife has done a magnificent job at hosting this
lovely gala.”

Small talk normally bored Hermione to tears, but there was a glimmer of understanding behind
Lucius Malfoy’s eyes that told her he understood the slight dig at him she took when she spoke of a
worthy cause. She knew damn well how he’d treated Dobby, and he knew it as well.

This was all pretense and posturing disguised as a civilized discussion.

“I’ll let her know how much you’ve enjoyed yourself. It is customary of the host to share a dance
with the guest of honor. You’d offer me the greatest privilege to escort you to the floor.”

Hermione smiled, baring her teeth in a manner that bespoke of her ruthlessness.

She’d once accidentally flayed a Death Eater alive in the middle of a siphoning as the Dark Magic
flooded her and she’d allowed it to take root before her moral compass rushed back in.

She wondered if Lucius could see the deaths of all the men she’d taken their magic from as she
smiled sweetly, the deadly flare of warning registering in his eyes so similar to his son’s as they
widened slightly.

She held her hand out to his, placing her fingers in his outstretched palm and smiled even wider at
the subtle flinch the older Malfoy gave at the connection.

Allowing the magic a longer leash, she let the energy flow off her in waves until they were
powerful enough to leech what little color was left on the face of the Malfoy patriarch as he swept
them gracefully toward the center of the room where the music was just starting to play once more.

She remembered this dance, thankfully. It was from the Yule Ball, and she’d get the chance to make
a connection with multiple dance partners before the end.
All of the dancers took their spots, and she noticed bemusedly that more and more guests were
scurrying to the dance floor to watch in rapt attention the Golden Girl dance with Death Eater
Lucius Malfoy.

It was truly a sight to behold, she was certain, had she not been the one to have to suffer from it.

Pansy Parkinson was to her left, Blaise Zabini to her right, their partners in front of them beside
Lucius.

Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy were standing beside Lucius.

The snake pit, indeed.

She wondered briefly where Narcissa had gone, but the music began and her feet moved of their
own volition without her permission, almost as if she’d been cursed, though she knew it was
impossible.

Thanks to Harry and the help of multiple other Aurors (and countless research coupled with
copious amounts of independent study and practice), Hermione’s Occlumency was on par with
those who were masters of the art due to the sensitive nature of her research and work in the Auror
department at the Ministry.

She would not break under torture, that much was proven by her resilience against Bellatrix during
the war, but magic siphoning was almost as dangerous a topic to be partaking in as the Horcruxes
had been; if she wasn’t under complete and total lock and key, she could get the entire Ministry
discredited for what she was doing, and even though it was under their orders in the first place, she
would become the number one scapegoat.

No, her Occlumency was strong, and Voldemort himself could not penetrate her walls, she was
sure.

Which was why, as she felt Lucius Malfoy’s soft, whisper thin power attempting to wrestle control
of her mind, she allowed him in, just a bit.

She allowed him to see the images of his son through her eyes as she punched him squarely in the
nose in Third Year.

She allowed him to see Draco wallowing in faux tears after the incident with Buckbeak,
squandering any pride he might’ve had for his son during his schooling years.

It was quite comical, the way Lucius’ eyes flared with anger. The way his nostrils expanded and his
breath came quicker as he tried his Legilimency to invade her more precious memories.

She pulled each embarrassing memory of Draco forward from the bookshelves of her mind, each
catalogued and perfectly organized from date, person, and location.

She kept the other, more sensitive memories of Draco hidden in a deep, dark, black alcove in the
dustiest corners of her mind that no one could pull forth from her no matter what kind of torture
they used on her.

Not even Hermione herself had ever revisited those memories since she filed them away neatly and
sorted them out of sight and out of mind.
Suddenly, Lucius pulled out of her mind and looked to the side just as it was time for the partners to
switch, and she found herself turning in a slight circle before coming face to face with the object of
her memories.

She hoped the blush wasn’t too noticeable on her cheeks.

“Granger. Never pegged you the type to go for older men.”

“Malfoy. Never thought of you enough to have an opinion on your ‘type’ whatsoever.”

They ambled up toward each other, hands up and centimeters from each other’s faces before pulling
away once more, twirling in concise circles as their eyes never once left each other unless the dance
called for it.

Was he trying to use his Legilimency on her, as well? Like father, like son?

“Oh, come now Granger, you really expect me to believe that after how you’ve been eyeing me all
night?”

Something predatory lurked beneath the molten silver in Malfoy’s irises, and Hermione would’ve
been lying to herself if she tried to say that she wasn’t the least bit intrigued in him, in how he’d
managed to climb the ranks at the Ministry by becoming an informant even despite his reputation
and Death Eater ties.

She was surprised Lucius Malfoy himself was even able to be throwing galas like one such as they
were attending after his sentencing.

But then, well, house arrest and the confiscation of ones wand didn’t necessarily mean you couldn’t
host a grand ball in your home, just that you couldn’t leave it or use magic during the festivities…
or at all.

“If by eyeing you mean ignoring your very existence, then yes, by all means Malfoy, I have been
‘eyeing’ you all night.”

Throughout each step, Hermione never tore her gaze from Malfoy’s.

They surely should’ve switched back to their original partners by now, right? Or was she only over-
analyzing things because Malfoy wouldn’t stop looking at her like that, like he could eat her for
dinner and leave only just enough leftover for dessert…

“Good of you to acknowledge what we all here have seen with our own two eyes all night.”

“Oh? And you think that’s me watching you, is it?”

“I know it is. In fact, I can guarantee that we’ll be the talk of the town by tomorrow; just look at all
the hungry eyes watching us, proving my point.”

Hermione didn’t bother to look, for she knew just how many eyes were on her and the Malfoy heir
as they danced and ignored their original partners.

“And your point is? This seems to be a recurring theme in your life, Malfoy: constantly talking out
of your arse to fill up the void where your personality should be.”
Malfoy’s lips quirked up into an amused smirk and the teasing mirth dancing behind his quicksilver
eyes matched the pace in which they were dancing to the crescendoing orchestral music.

“You wound me, Granger. My point is that you haven’t been able to keep your eyes off me all
night, and this just proves it.”

“So, by your logic, you would’ve had to be staring at me all night as well, yes?”

His face morphed into a fully formed grin, and for a moment Hermione Granger was at a loss for
words and almost tripped, but his hand on her waist steadied her as they readied for the big finale.

“Of course I’ve had my eyes on you all night; you’re my Principle.”

“Your…what?”

“Wow, something Hermione Granger doesn’t know. I never thought I’d see the day. You’re my
Principle—Kingsley spoke with me after our last…encounter, and he decided it would be best for
me to come on officially through a specialty Auror program. I’d been in the process of receiving
my official instatement at the department when I applied to be an informant, but Kingsley said my
‘invaluable assets’ to the Ministry were too important to not be utilizing immediately. Suppose my
nepotism didn’t necessarily help me in that aspect, but who needs my family’s money when my
talent speaks for itself?”

Hermione could hardly comprehend the words he was saying fast enough to match up with the beat
of the music and the steps she was supposed to be focusing on instead.

“So, you’re on a special team for Aurors. That still doesn’t explain what a Principle is, or why I’m
yours.”

“It means that you, my dear Granger, are my client of sorts. Kingsley wants you to have protection
while you’re out and about—you can never know who will try to get their hands on the little
project we’re working on. One can never be too safe.”

Hermione was going to get whiplash from the speed at which his moods changed.

“I thought you were sickened and disgusted by the fact of me ‘playing god’ or however you put it.”

Malfoy suddenly jerked them to a stop in the middle of the dance floor, but the other dancers gave
them a wide berth to talk, as if something like that happened all the time, and continued on dancing
as if it was of no consequence.

His face was mere inches from hers, one hand on her wrist digging painfully into her skin while the
other clutched her waist, cutting off any and all exits of escape.

“That was all before Kingsley took an Unbreakable Vow. No members of the Malfoy family will
ever be subjected to your little…experiment, under any circumstances.”

And that was when it hit Hermione, that Draco was only disgusted with what Hermione was doing
because he was worried that she was going to do it to his father, as well, just like she’d done it to
the father of one of his oldest friends.

“Malfoy, I would never have done that to any member of your family regardless. Not only are they
not a threat, but there was never—“
 “Of course you couldn’t have done that to my family members; I would have stopped you the
moment they stepped through the doors of the Ministry, but not to worry, all that is well and over
with and you have no leverage or power over me or mine, so I took the job Kingsley assigned. I
believe you and I will be seeing quite a bit of each other in the coming months.”

Before Hermione could analyze the look in his eyes that followed his words, Malfoy lined them
back up with the other dancers and ceased his endless talking so that Hermione could have space to
breathe, to think.

Hermione followed the lead of the rest of those in the dance and stepped up toward Malfoy’s body,
the breath stuttering in her chest as he placed his warm hands on the satin of her ballgown,
knuckles gripping hard as he lifted her high up above his head and did a slight spin whilst she was
in the air.

His touch was searing her through her ballgown, melting her down to her very bones, and she still
couldn’t decide if she loved it or hated—

The quick tightening of his grip on her waist sent deliciously unbidden shivers and blasts of desire
straight through the cloth covering her skin and directly to the warm pool in her stomach which was
surely fueling the dilation of her pupils and the deep red flush of her cheeks as her breaths came in
heaving pants that she was sure Malfoy could discern weren’t from the exertion from dancing, but
she didn’t care.

For a moment, she was breathless. Weightless. Careless.

She could pretend she wasn’t slowly dying of a curse leaching poison into her bloodstream with
each precious breath she took.

She could pretend the man she was dancing with wasn’t her sworn childhood enemy, and that his
entire family had stood back and watched while she was tortured in the very home she was
spinning around in without a care in the world.

She could pretend, pretend, pretend, because if she didn’t pretend—

If she didn’t pretend, Hermione would surely break like fine porcelain all over the pristine, elegant
marble flooring of the Malfoy Manor ballroom, and just what a pity that would be to ruin such a
wonderful party, for such a worthy cause.

Hermione didn’t have another chance to quip back at Malfoy before she was deposited again on the
floor and Malfoy was bowing to his date, Pansy Parkinson only slightly incensed that Draco hadn’t
switched back partners with her for the big spin like everyone else had.

Hermione was just thankful she hadn’t had to do the mortifying turn with his father, who was
sidling up next to her with a bow before turning on his heel to go and find his wife on the edges of
the crowd as the music ended with a flourish and Hermione was left suddenly wondering what in
Merlin’s name had just happened.

Chapter End Notes

I hope you're all enjoying Stealing Emeralds! I have a playlist for this story linked below:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7ghykFY5jDtfyAqbVV09GG?si=c0483d1fa3f44e6f

Until next time my lovely readers,

Kristen :)
 Chapter 7

June 18, 2005

“Draco, what were you speaking to Hermione Granger about for so long last night?”

“Nothing of import, mother, just about the project that we’re both conducting with the Ministry.”

“Ah, well, I was hoping it was something more of the romantic nature. The two of you looked so
beautiful together; I would be more than honored to have a witch of her stature join my family.”

Draco’s father snorted in laughter from the other end of the table where they’d been partaking in tea
and scones as a late breakfast.

“Hermione Granger, a member of our household? I’m sure she’d rather slit her own wrists than
have to endure our company, especially considering Bella almost did that very thing on our drawing
room floor when she was nothing but a slip of a girl. Why should she show our family anything
other than disdain and ignorance, I’d have no idea, but Draco, your mother is right in one aspect.”

“And what’s that?”

“If that witch shows you even the slightest bit of romantic interest, I’d suggest you take it without
looking back and never give her a moment’s reprieve to think about her decision.”

Draco eyed his father as if losing his magic and his permanent house arrest had altered his mind
more than he’d originally thought.

Of course, it had been years since Lucius Malfoy had broken down after the fall of the Dark Lord
and ended up in a private suite at St. Mungo’s for mind healing, but they rarely spoke of that. Much
like they rarely spoke of the torture and pain the Malfoys had endured as a family at the hand of
Voldemort and his followers.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, boy. Especially not after the way I saw you eyeing her while the
two of you danced. Yes, there might be loathing and hate, but the companion to those things is
passion. Just ask your mother.”

“He’s right dear,” Draco’s mother chimed in while she daintily sipped on her teacup like the perfect
Pureblood wife she was brought up to be. Which brought Draco to another question to his parents.

“And what of her blood status?”

“Does that really still matter to you, son?”

Draco raised an eyebrow at his father’s dry tone.

“No, of course not. I just assumed it would matter to you, at least.”

“Where, pray tell, has blood supremacy gotten this family?”

The small family was quiet, too quiet.

Mippy popped into the parlor dressed in her finest silks that she loved to don on the weekends ever
since Draco had doubled her salary and had taken to staying the weekends at the manor.

“Please forgive the intrusion, but there is a Mister Kingsley Shacklebolt here to see Master Draco.”

“Thank you Mippy, I’ll receive him in my study.”

“Of course, Master Draco! I’ll have tea ready for you!”

“The Minister for Magic is at our home?”

Draco’s father bristled at the news.

“Don’t worry, it’s about the project with Granger.”

“Draco, dear, I hope you know what you’re doing there.”

He shot his mother and father equally stunning smiles.

“You know me. I almost never know what I’m doing.”

And then he was meeting with the Minister in his private study, the man’s dark brown skin glowing
ebony and brilliant in the low lamplight and slight afternoon sun slanting in through the bay
windows of his second favorite room in the manor.

“Minister, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“It’s about Miss Granger, I’m afraid.”

“Ah, of course. And how can I help you in that regard?”

“We at the Ministry who are in the know are concerned, to say the least, about what she is doing. It
is possibly one of the most dangerous endeavors for any witch or wizard to experiment with, let
alone someone of her birth status which others could manipulate into their own narrative about
what it is she’s doing exactly.”

Draco was glad he’d already cast a silent muffliato on the room, lest any nosy house elves, (or
worse—his mother) were snooping around to find out why exactly Kingsley had shown up at the
Manor’s front door without so much as an owl in notice.

“I see. And seeing as she’s my Principle, starting on Monday, you’re more concerned for her safety
than you were when last we spoke?”

Kingsley leaned against one of Draco’s favorite charcoal colored wingback chairs in front of a
roaring fireplace before sighing and nodding.

“We’ll need the two of you to follow up on each and every subject that Hermione has performed
the ritual on in the Muggle world to ensure the punishment is…permanent, and to make sure the
memories are unattainable. You weren’t with us for the first few rituals, so the efficacy of the
memory charms have been called into question, especially considering you’re the best we have in
that department.”
“So, with all this in mind, how can we go about protecting Granger and her work moving forward
better than the plan I was already devising?”

“Let’s just say there’s going to be pushback, and she’s not going to like it.”

“It’s Hermione Granger—when has she ever liked being told what to do?”

Kingsley chuckled before nodding his head in agreement.

“There’s more, though, unfortunately, and you’ll all be briefed by Robards on Monday, but I
figured since I was here I would tell you what I know. There are three insurgent bands of new-age
Death Eaters who are vying for political seats and lobbying for inclusion in multiple different
countries, including France, Italy and Bulgaria. They are using their anti-Muggleborn propaganda
as an ideal and not hate driven, as they’re attempting to go the legal route versus total domination
as Voldemort attempted once before. They’re attempting to infiltrate the Ministry here, but since
there’s so much pushback from my administration, things are going to get violent. You’ll need to be
more than vigilant while you’re with Hermione.”

“I’d never dare to be anything but where she’s concerned.”

“Good. I knew, despite your rocky history, that I’d made the right choice.”

“Let’s just hope she feels the same way, Minister.”

Kingsley and Draco’s relationship had started out rocky, too, if he remembered correctly—but the
man had taken a chance on a jaded wizard with a penchant for mind magic and Draco had never
been more grateful for the chance he’d taken on him where no one else had.

“Let’s hope,” Kingsley echoed, tipping his head to Draco before making his way to the exit of
Draco’s study, forcing him for the first time to reconsider just how much thinking about a certain
Muggleborn witch was too much.

***

GOLDEN GIRL STUNS AT MALFOY GALA FOR HOUSE ELVES

By Lavender Brown
18, June 2005
The Daily Prophet

Dressed impeccably in shimmering satin, our Golden Girl Hermione Granger was in attendance at
the charity gala of the year, hosted by one Narcissa Malfoy at her infamous manor where our
favorite war heroine had spent harrowing time during the second Wizarding War against one Tom
Riddle (A.K.A Lord Voldemort).

As a diligent purveyor of social customs and norms, I am at liberty to say that this event is most
certainly not something one would see every day, and alas, I was unable to snag an invitation to the
prestigious event, but eyewitness accounts and this stunning photo of Hermione Granger
descending the manor’s staircase is truly a work of art (see photographer credentials below,
Creevey, Dennis).

Speaking of eyewitness accounts—everyone’s favorite Malfoy was spotted dancing with not only his
date, Pansy Parkinson, but also doing his duty as host and sharing what some called an ‘intimate’
dance with Hermione Granger herself.

Those of us still holding out hope that everyone’s favorite Golden Couple, Hermione Granger and
Ronald Weasley, would be in attendance together are all crestfallen at the news that the two have
suddenly split up—this time, for good, if sources close to the couple are to be believed.

“She’s working on herself, and she doesn’t have time for something if it’s not forever. She didn’t
want to lead him on, and he already had someone on the back burner like he usually always does
when they’re on-again and off-again. You didn’t hear it from me, but she’s someone completely
different from Hermione—a Pureblood!”

If one is to believe such rumors, which this journalist is much inclined to do, then there may be a
new rising It couple on the horizon just as we bid a sad farewell to what could have been with our
Golden Couple.

For a more detailed account of all the inside scoop at Narcissa’s extravagant charity ball for the
Relocation and Fair Treatment of House Elves, please see page 12.

***

“At least she called you stunning.”

“Ginny, the next time your ex-boyfriend’s bit on the side writes a continual exposé on each and
every detail of your private life, then we can talk.”

“Yikes. Who pissed in your tea this morning?”

“Draco Malfoy.”

“Oh, is he hiding out in your loo, then? That’s good, I’ll remember not to use it.”

Hermione threw the witch an evil glare, but she only laughed it off and tossed her radiant red hair
over one shoulder before throwing her husband a glance that screamed ‘help me.

“Oh, no. I’m staying out of that one. Sorry Hermione, there was nothing I could do about the
assignment. It was purely Kingsley’s doing.”

“Wonderful. So not only will I have to suffer through Draco Malfoy as my glorified bodyguard, but
my 'connections' with the Chosen One aren’t even connections at all!”

“Wow, and here I thought we were best friends for over a decade because you loved me.”

“Oh don’t be ridiculous sweetheart, she only likes you for your status. Just like me.”
The two women wore matching faces of serious truth and Harry looked at the two of them like he
was going mad.

“You…are joking, right?”

“I will never tell!”

Harry grabbed Ginny by the waist to tickle it out of her and Hermione had to ignore the aching in
her chest and the throbbing in her arm when the loneliness struck her harder than it normally did.

Hermione begged off early and decided to take a nap on her rest day to let the rest of the magic
she’d absorbed do its job, and just after she’d awoken at dusk she remembered it was Sunday and
she had a self-care routine that needed to be done before she could be deemed presentable for the
work day ahead.

So, she got up and primped properly, only stopping to gulp down three large glasses of wine to try
and stave off the heartache that usually came with her mostly empty weekends.

She didn’t ponder over what had happened the night before at Malfoy Manor, didn’t think on
Lavender Brown and her articles that were usually much more scathing of her character after she’d
taken on Rita Skeeter’s job after the previous Editor-in-Chief at the Daily Prophet had retired
permanently after a particularly nasty story she’d printed on Ginny and Harry.

She could say what she wanted about Hermione, but the moment she involved those she loved, it
was game over for her. Hermione didn’t play around when it came to her loved ones.

She was just stepping out of her shower, tipsy and a little scrubbed raw from the too-hot water and
too-vigorous scrubbing of her body when she realized her favorite jumper was in the sitting room.

Hooking her towel more tightly around her chest, she traipsed into her sitting room and snatched up
her favorite jumper just as her Floo roared to life.

Which was impossible, especially considering she’d closed it just after Harry and Ginny left so she
could be alone.

What was even more impossible?

The sight of platinum blonde hair attached to a very irritating head that was currently stepping out
of her fireplace as if he owned it.

And on that irritating head? An even more irritating smirk at the sight of her…in nothing but a
towel.

Malfoy was so dead.

 Chapter 8
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

June 18, 2005

“How in the bloody fuck did you get into my home?!”

Draco Malfoy leaned against the wall of Hermione’s fireplace, a placating smile pulling up the
edges of his infuriatingly beautiful face.

It was a shame, really. A face that beautiful deserved a personality to match, and Malfoy was—
well, his insides didn’t match the outside.

“I tampered with your wards a bit. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Tampered with them?!”

“It was all too easy; you should really look into setting better wards. I can help you with that soon,
but first I wanted to see what we were looking at.”

“You can look all you want—from the outside looking in. Get. Out.”

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, hoping against all hope that he—

“What’s that on your arm?”

Hermione quickly tugged her arms down and hid her poisoned arm behind her back, using the
wandless charm she’d learned so long ago to hide the veins spiderwebbing up and down her arm to
her shoulder.

“None of your business. Now can we get back to how in Merlin’s name you were able to break into
my home?”

Malfoy’s eyes were glittering fragments of curiosity, and Hermione knew that she hadn’t heard the
last of his inquiries about her arm, but she was thankful that he seemed to drop it, for time being, at
least.

“It was all the rage during the war, I only picked up on what I saw. Oh, don’t give me that look
Granger; we all know the Golden Girl isn’t against the questionable morals that come with slightly
tainted magic.”

“Get out of my house.”

Malfoy’s eyes glinted with sparkling silver in the lowlight of her fireplace.

“Make me.”

His words were devious, as usual, except where emptiness should have been, a dangerous game of
flirtation had taken its place, and Hermione did not want to stick around to discover how the rest of
the conversation would devolve while she was practically naked in front of him.

“Fine. Wait here for all I care. Let’s just see what Crookshanks has to say about our new guest. Oh,
Crooks!”

“What the bloody hell is a—ah!”

Hermione’s favorite fur ball trotted up against the chair next to the fireplace and jumped up on the
mantle directly beside Malfoy’s head to stare deeply into his enigmatic eyes.

“Meow.”

“Granger. Why does your cat look like an endangered species Magizoologists have yet to
discover?”

Hermione could only frown with an amused tilt of her head as she watched the two males eye each
other with barely restrained animosity between the two.

“You be nice to Crooks, you’re the one who broke into our home.”

“If it could be avoided, I wouldn’t have; however, I have my orders. It was time that I started
getting a jump on them.”

“You had orders to break into my home?”

“My orders are to keep you safe, Granger.”

Malfoy turned away from her cat just as he ambled up closer to her, his hands easing into the front
pockets of his perfectly tailored black trousers.

“If I can break in that easily where you’re clearly vulnerable, who’s to say someone who found out
about our project can’t do exactly the same thing?”

With Malfoy’s close proximity came his scent that danced through Hermione’s mind and caused
her knees to weaken, forcing her to grab ahold of the back of her couch in front of her which
seemed to be her only barrier between the two of them.

Minty and fresh combined with a mixture of fresh linen and expensive cologne that was somehow
not completely overbearing, Hermione had half a mind to ask him where she could find and bottle
the scent so that she could spray it on her bedding when she was feeling particularly lonely, but she
wasn’t to the point of being that desperate. Yet.

“I’ll work on my wards, alright? Will that satisfy you enough to leave me the hell alone until I have
to see your face at the Ministry tomorrow?”

A wolfish grin worked its way onto Malfoy’s face as he stopped at the cushions of her couch, her
horribly stained, old, embroidered couch that she’d taken from her father’s study in her childhood
home. Her father wouldn’t be needing it anymore, and Hermione wanted a piece of her home in her
flat, even if the memories that came with it were tainted with the reality of what she’d done to her
parents and how irreversible it was.

“Oh, that won’t nearly satisfy me enough, but I suppose it’ll have to do. I see I’ve intruded on your
night, please accept my sincerest apologies, Granger.”
“Apology not accepted, Malfoy.”

They held each other’s eyes in an eerily charged standoff, but another “Meow” from Crookshanks
had them adjusting their eyes so that they could focus on anything other than the other’s eyes.

She knew why she was so drawn to his, molten and sparkling in the low lamplight, but was curious
as to the reason why he was unable to pull his away from her.

“I suppose I’ll have to accept that and endeavor to continue fostering a ‘respectful and compliant
work environment’ while at the Ministry. While away from the Ministry, however, we are doing
this my way, do you understand?”

Hermione was already thinking of the pull Harry could possibly give her with Kingsley and of all
the strongly-worded letters she would be sending in order to get Malfoy kicked off her case.

Surely they knew how insufferable he was, right?

Right?

He winked at her and the sight shouldn’t have been so—

No. Hermione refused to be affected by Malfoy and his so-called ‘charms’ that he pulled out of a
bag whenever he wanted something that wasn’t exactly going his way. She refused to give in to him
that easily.

“Sure, Malfoy. I understand completely.”

She’d have said anything at that point to get him the hell out of her house.

He seemed to take the bait, or gave up on his fight entirely, and made his way toward her Floo as if
he’d just had a nice visit with her after being invited in, which he most certainly wasn’t.

“Nice place you’ve got here, Granger. Can’t wait to see it again.”

And without a second glance back over his shoulder, Hermione closed her Floo, Accio’d her wand,
and set several new protection wards.

One even sliced all appendages off any and all uninvited guests.

She’d love to see what would happen should he try coming back through again after that one.

***

“Mione! Wait up!”

Hermione closed her eyes, sucked in a deep, calming breath, and cursed whatever gods were
assigned to be watching over her.
She’d been cursed, tortured, cut up and mutilated, chased, bullied, hexed and traumatized all in her
short twenty-five years of life.

Couldn’t she catch a break and not have to do the insufferable act of speaking to her ex-boyfriend
for the closure talk?

“Hello, Ronald.”

Ron Weasley stood in front of her as they both came to a stop close to the entrance of the Ministry
and thankfully were out of earshot of the majority of those rushing into work, otherwise there
would’ve been eyes on them.

Ever since the article Lavender had dropped, Hermione’s home had been flooded with those trying
to get a photo-op of the ‘Golden Girl’ falling apart because of the breakup.

What no one else understood was that the breakup had been amicable and mutual, despite the fact
that Hermione had instigated it this time.

And she was adamant that it would stick this time. She would not fall back into old patterns and
land in Ron’s bed after one too many Firewhiskeys at game night at Ginny and Harry’s and then
cater to Ron’s emotional upheaval which led to the cycle of codependency that neither could seem
to break.

He needed her and she needed someone to need her, otherwise the crippling loneliness would strike
back with a vengeance and she wasn’t necessarily ready to feel that aching schism in her heart yet
again, but to keep herself from the toxic habits of her past, she supposed it was the price that she
would have to pay.

“Hey Mione, can we talk?”

“Now?”

His blue eyes searched her imploringly and she sighed deeply, conceding yet again.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Well, I was just…you’re on the team with Malfoy now, right?”

“Yes?”

Ron scratched the back of his neck awkwardly before continuing.

“Well, I was just going to say that if you needed me to, I could send in a word to Kingsley and get
him kicked off, in case you couldn’t get it done with just Harry’s word, I can send in my personal
testimony too, and—”

“I’m sorry, Ron, I’m not sure I understand where you’re going with this. Why would I want Malfoy
kicked off the case? He’s one of the best new Aurors we’ve had working for us in ages, and we
need his talents for this particular case, but that’s all I can say. And honestly Ron, if Harry’s
influence couldn’t get him from being my assigned Auror, then nothing could.”

“Wait—he’s assigned to you, specifically? Oh well that’s just rich,” Ron began, breaking off for a
moment to laugh which only made Hermione more confused as to the nature of their conversation.
“Ron, I’m still not following—what are you trying to accomplish here?”

“Well—come on, Mione. You know what he did to you in school, what happened at…at the Manor.
There’s no way you could work with him.”

She couldn’t control the wave of anger that boiled up in her chest at his words.

“And what gives you the idea that you have any right to say who I can and cannot work with?”

Ron seemed a loss for words.

“I—Mione, its…it’s Malfoy.”

“Yes, and he’s passed his NEWT’s, his entrance exams, his specialty exams and the practical tests
as well as undergone extensive mind healing visits in order to be employed by the Ministry, just
like any other Auror, including yourself who, by the way, hardly skated by in the exams whereas
Malfoy passed with flying colors, the second highest grade in Ministry history.”

“Oh, right, you just love rubbing it in how you made history by scoring the highest scores the
Ministry’s ever seen, while I’m nothing but a failure. It’s always the same bloody thing with you
isn’t it, can’t get off your high horse long enough to see that no one else can stand you!”

“No one can stand me? I’m not the one blubbering around about my own failures instead of doing
something about it! You were always threatened by my successes, always trying to get me to blow
off work to do nothing on the couch with you, well newsflash Ronald—I’m not that person! Maybe
you can go out and find someone out there who wants that with you, but it’s not me!”

“Don’t worry about me, Mione, I’ve already found here—and she’s ten times the witch you’ve ever
been for me! She actually listens to me and cares about what I’m going through, when all you care
about is your work and how much better you are than everyone else! Well, you can’t say you’re
better than her—she’s got one thing you’ll never have!”

She was seething, clearly unaware of the small crowd that had gathered to watch their ranting, but
she was unfocused and wild and just a little bit unhinged.

Ronald was in her face in an instant, hot breath cascading over her cheeks just as something that
felt like a tear dripped down her face.

“She’s a—she…she’s got me Hermione. And you’ll never have me again. Not after this time. I’ve
moved on, and maybe it’s time you should, too. It’s a bit pathetic, isn’t it? Always hanging on,
waiting around for me? It’s over.”

“You—I broke up with you! I told you I didn’t want this anymore, and you—”

“Just let it go, Hermione. Just…let it go.”

And with Ron stealing the parting words, Hermione’s body shaking in unrestrained anger, he left
her in the middle of a murmuring crowd until a platinum shock of hair rocked her out of her stupor.

It was only when Draco Malfoy grabbed ahold of her elbow and escorted her into the Ministry, all
business, did she realize that she was still crying.

“Alright there, Granger?”

 “Fine. I’m fine.”

“You don’t look it.”

He hadn’t turned to look at her face when saying it, only helping her into the elevator death traps
the Ministry liked to think were ‘practical’.

“I’m fine.”

Maybe the more times she said it, it would actually come true.

Chapter End Notes

I hope you're all enjoying reading as much as I'm enjoying writing this story!! Please let me
know what you think! Until next time my lovely readers,
Kristen :)
 Chapter 9

DID HERMIONE GRANGER DESTROY THE GOLDEN TRIO: HOW OUR GOLDEN
GIRL’S TURMOIL
COULD BE A CLUE TO A THREAT ON OUR SOCIETY’S FRAGILE PEACE
By Lavender Brown
20, June 2005
The Daily Prophet

This journalist would be remiss to report on something less than fact, however, the rumors flooding
in surrounding one-third of the Golden Trio have been astounding to say the least. Hermione
Granger was seen having a very heated argument with a certain red-haired Weasley one day ago in
front of their workplace at the Ministry of Magic and as their insults were spewed, so, too, were the
tears of a society hoping amongst hope that the catastrophic breakup between the old flames
wouldn’t lead to the destruction of the esteemed Golden Trio but, alas, that seems to not be the case
in the slightest.

Sources close to Miss Granger claim that she “is emotionally unstable after the breakup and Ron’s
quick rebound. She feels like he is moving on and she can’t do the same because she’s stuck in her
own heartbreak, throwing herself into her work and neglecting her mental health. It’s sad, really,
how much she’s already let herself go in such a short amount of time. If you look closely, she almost
appears ill.”

While these unsubstantiated claims of Miss Hermione Granger’s illness have not yet been
acknowledged by anyone of note (let alone her personal healer when representatives for The Daily
Prophet reached out for comment), one can only wonder just how healthy one girl can be while
juggling the demands of such a reckless job. With how haggard the poor girl has been looking
lately, one can only wonder what the Ministry isn’t telling us about the state of our fragile peace in
the aftermath of the destruction caused by the malevolent Dark Wizard, Tom Riddle (A.K.A. Lord
Voldemort).

While this piece originally started as an insight into the breakup of our most beloved Golden Trio,
this writer can only speculate on the growing unrest surrounding the leniency provided to those
sympathetic to the aforementioned Dark Wizard’s cause, as well as high society patrons who wish
to see more reform on discriminatory acts on accused and/or proven Dark Magic sympathizers and
supporters.

Is Hermione Granger on the cusp of turning around our stagnant social dilemma, or is she finally
drowning under the weight of her personal, and political, demons?
 Chapter 10
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

June 20 2005

“Hermione, I need to know—and I’m being so serious here—are you dying?”

The breath caught in Hermione’s throat as Harry sat across from her in the middle of the cafe off
the side of the Ministry where they ate lunch whenever they could both get away from their desks
long enough to shove down some sustenance to survive the work day.

“W-what? Harry, why would you ask me that? Of course I’m not dying, whatever gave you that
idea?”

It was only when her best friend cracked a smile and mirth dripped from his countenance did
Hermione relax her overly tense muscles.

“You know I’m only messing with you. Lavender’s quite good at what she does with the Prophet,
turning a gossip socialite piece into something resembling politics. You can tell she was given the
gossip and socialite column when what she really wanted was the more hard hitting articles.”

“Yes, well, she’s still painting me as a pathetic, ill spinster that will most likely die alone and
desperate, so there’s that.”

“At least you’ll look lovely while dying as an ill, sad spinster.”

Harry barely dodged the piece of her scone that she’d just broken it off before thinking better of it
and lobbing it at his head.

“You know I’m only joking; you and Ron just broke up. There’s going to be a line of guys waiting
outside the door to your flat to take you out. Just you wait.”

It didn’t take long.

“Hermione? Hermione Granger, is that you?”

Hermione had only just turned around in her seat before she went ramrod straight and sent stark,
terrified eyes to her best-friend who could only stare at the newcomer to the table, amused.

Amused!

As if anything about Cormac McLaggen was amusing. As if.

“Yes, hello, Cormac. Lovely to see you again. How’s it going with the Quidditch career?”

Hermione’s tone was friendly and polite. Not overtly frosty at all.
By the tug of Cormac’s eyebrows toward his hairline, she could tell she wasn’t being polite at all,
but really, did she even have to care?

Cormac had always been a pig in school, toting that gorgeous sandy-blonde hair and picturesque
model face that Hermione had fallen for, once upon a time. Once, in Fourth Year, right at the start
of term, before she’d ever met Viktor.

It had only taken one jamming of Cormac’s tongue down her throat for Hermione to lose all interest
in the boy after that.

“Well, I’ll just let the two of you catch up, I’m actually late for a meeting.”

“Harry!”

“What? I’m sure Cormac here can keep you company while I’m gone!”

He had either completely misread Hermione’s panic-ridden eyes, or he simply didn’t care.

Either way, she was suddenly stuck having lunch with Cormac bloody McLaggen.

Brilliant.

“Well, if you insist,” Cormac began, a lopsided smile on his face as he ambled into Harry’s vacated
spot.

His hair was perfectly coiffed, face perfectly tanned with barely a line on his face belying his age,
though none of the Hogwarts graduates that had endured the war had gotten out of their trials and
tribulations without a few marks of age here and there; for some it was in the form of literal scars—
some self-inflicted like a Dark Mark, some forced upon them, like the seeping wound on
Hermione’s arm that was slowly killing her.

She suddenly wished it would just get on with it and finish the job, but then she remembered the
many things she’d yet to do.

The House Elf Relocation and Fair Treatment Act had yet to be filed into law, and she was the
leading author on the bill. She would have to have her day in court in front of the Wizengamot, and
she would need to be at full strength in order to do so.

Then there was the right of equal and fair treatment of Werewolves that Hermione had had to put
on the back burner for the House Elf act and the magic siphoning rituals she’d been performing at
least three times a month as more and more unequivocally guilty Death Eaters were being found
and charged to death.

What the public didn’t know, however, was that the Dark Wizards were not being executed, simply
stripped of their memories and their magic, all performed by a Muggleborn.

Hermione’s lips turned downward as Cormac brushed a hand along her shoulder as he pulled his
seat forward before sitting down completely, his dark blue eyes never once leaving her face even
despite the fact that she knew he had wandering eyes. He always had, ever since that first night
they’d met.

“So, how are you? I heard about you and Ron breaking up, tough break that is.”
“Sure. I’m fine, and you?”

“Oh, I’m doing well! My father has allowed me to venture away from my Lordly duties to explore
my Quidditch career and I couldn’t be happier to be playing for the Cannons! You know, I hear
they’re Ron’s favorite team—what do you say you make him a little jealous with their best Keeper
in years?”

“Oh, don’t hide behind your modesty, McLaggen,” a voice came from directly behind Hermione,
caustic and sharp and somehow startlingly comforting, if only for the fact that the owner of said
voice could get her out of this hellish lunch with the man before her.

Although, was the thought of spending more time with Draco Malfoy considered more or less
favorable than Cormac McLaggen?

“Malfoy, I wasn’t aware you followed Quidditch, what with all your…extracurricular activities you
partake in these days.”

It didn’t take a genius to know that Cormac wasn’t referring to his work with the Ministry, but
Hermione decided to jump in anyway—for what reason, she didn’t know, other than the fact that
Cormac was quite possibly the most lecherous scum to walk the earth since Voldemort had turned
to dust and Bellatrix LeStrange was done away with by Molly Weasley herself.

“Yes, Cormac, Malfoy is an invaluable asset to the Auror’s office. We’re under a very strict
timeline for a sensitive project, so I’m sorry but I’m going to have to dash—the bill’s already been
covered since Harry and I were already through eating when you stopped by. Goodbye.”

“I—uh, wait, Hermione. About what I said—”

“And while it was a most tempting offer, Cormac, I’m afraid I must decline. No, actually—refuse,
because the thought of you sticking your tongue down my throat in a most juvenile fashion in order
to make my ex-boyfriend jealous is quite possibly one of the least appealing things I could ever
consider partaking it—and that includes the extraction of the anal glands of an Acromantula. If you
think you can get away with what you pulled back at Hogwarts with me you are sorely mistaken.
Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

As Hermione stood and grabbed her files she’d brought with her and placed them against her chest
like a shield, Malfoy stepped up beside her and the normally light steel of his eyes had transformed
from the rainy, downcast grey into a deep charcoal of thunder and shadows, anger reeling his
features pure and impossibly blank.

“Malfoy, walk with me. We need to discuss our next steps for the procedure we’re performing
today.”

“Sure thing, Granger. What happened to Potter? He’s supposed to be there as well, yes?”

Hermione knew they were putting on a performance for onlookers, but for the moment, Hermione
couldn’t find it in herself to give a single care about what anyone else thought.

Malfoy’s eyes still in a silent standoff with Cormac whom she’d already turned her back on, she
looped her elbow through Malfoy’s arm and tried to ignore the slight inhale of air at how soft the
material of his elegant black robes felt as they connected with the skin of her poisoned arm.
The soft buttery fabric was like a cool balm to her soul and she could have sworn that something in
her magic, in her core sang with something that felt remarkably like relief.

She’d had an intense reaction to touching him once before, in the ritual room where she’d grabbed
his wrist, but it was nothing like this.

Then, she’d been high off incoming magic and couldn’t discern her emotions from the feelings of
the previous owner of the new magic flooding into her veins. Everything had been heightened,
much like how she felt in that moment with her skin touching Draco Malfoy’s.

After what felt like an eternity, Malfoy turned his pointed chin down toward her and his eyes
collided with her, and then she couldn’t breathe.

Her inhale got stuck in a rattle in her chest, like her lungs were seizing up and her airways
paralyzed by the gripping stare in his heavenly gaze that promised nothing but hell in their depths,
but god, she would love to burn in them.

“Granger?”

His lips seemed more flushed with pink up close, and she briefly wondered how soft they might
feel as they parted around her last name.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Malfoy hadn’t so much as moved an inch, but their close proximity must’ve been doing something
strange to her head.

His nearness was singing to the magic in her veins, both her original magical core and the new
magic that had become her very own and moulded itself to her like it was always hers to belong
with.

Maybe that was why, every day, even despite her constant efforts to remain whole and simply good
all she felt was a war inside of her battling with her natural disposition to help and to heal instead
of to rage at the world in pain, sorrow and angst with hexes and curses that could tear the entire
Wizarding World to the ground, should she choose.

“I asked if Potter was going to be there today,” Malfoy said, steering them away from Cormac who
was still standing there at the table.

Hermione was sure he’d spouted off something or other, saying “Have fun with the Death Eater as
a co-worker, then we’ll see how long it’ll take for you to come running back to me,” but Hermione
simply tuned him out as she was accustomed to doing during their time they’d been forced to spend
together in the Common Room back at Hogwarts.

“Oh, right. Um, yes. Yes, he is.”

“Good. And just as a heads-up—Pansy Parkinson wants to speak with you about this one.”

That perked Hermione’s interest and cleared her head almost immediately even as her blood sang
from being so close to Malfoy. His scent was cloying in her nostrils, nearly bowling her over with
something she hadn’t felt in ages and refused to admit that she felt for Draco Malfoy, of all people.
 Besides, his strangely flirtatious attitude had been quelled the moment he had confronted her
outside of her flat, so clearly, the behavior had been meant to throw her off her game, or to rattle
her, or to aggravate her—or a combination of all three.

He really was just an extravagantly dressed git.

“I haven’t spoken to Pansy Parkinson in years; whatever could she be wanting to talk to me about
considering this case? Who is he again?”

“She knows, Granger.”

Her blood that had once been singing due to Malfoy’s nearness suddenly soured and turned
sluggish in her veins.

Malfoy held her elbow jauntily in his arm while his other hand came up to wrap around the space
above her forearm and suddenly an electrical crackle of energy was turning her blood liquid once
more.

“Knows—”

He whispered a mostly silent incantation, but Hermione knew what it was.

”Muffliato.”

“She knows that even though the Death Eaters are found guilty and set for execution that they don’t
actually die. That we’ve been…conducting experiments on them that the rest of the population is
unaware of.”

“And how exactly does she know this?”

Hermione’s hissed words were met with a cold grey glare and a hard set jaw devoid of stubble.

“She’s best friends with Theo, how could she not know?”

Hermione could only sigh in realization.

“And the case, who is he,” Hermione asked, just as the two of them cut a sharp corner, elbows
conjoined, and were only a few feet away from the front entrance to the Ministry where a certain
dark-haired, Pureblood Witch was waiting for the both of them with a scowl on her pretty face.

“The Death Eater’s name is Percival Parkinson—her father.”

Chapter End Notes

Let me know what you're thinking of this story so far! Only 80 chapters to go after this, give
or take :) Do you have patience and read as an author updates or do you bookmark and save
for later to binge read? I personally prefer to binge read if there's enough content posted and
then wait in agonizing misery until the author decides to update...and barring any unforeseen
personal emergencies, I will try my best not go to a week without updating, so we shall see
how this goes!!

Until next time my lovely readers,

Kristen :)
 Chapter 11
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

June 20, 2005

Even despite all the years and trauma that preceded them, Hermione was suddenly flung back into
Second Year when Pansy Parkinson used a hex to turn her hair into a ball of knots on the top of her
head, even more so than it had already been.

Hermione had never cried before then, because of their insults—their taunts.

Not until that day, when the loyal pack of Slytherins cornered her and all laughed at her wild,
unruly hair as they told her that it spoke of her Muggle heritage that she had such wild hair. She
was ‘nothing more than a wild beast’ and they had said they would do their best to make sure she
knew it.

Malfoy had laughed the loudest, but then he slung an arm around the girl in question who’d hurt
her the most and suddenly she realized with stunning clarity that, no matter what Dumbledore had
tried to espouse to them about ‘Inter-House Unity’, it would always be her against them. Not even
her house could protect her—they never could when it came to Muggleborns.

And maybe it was being best friends with the son of the Malfoy’s rival family, the Weasleys, or
maybe it was due to her friendship with Harry that painted a target on her back, but she was the
most picked-on Muggleborn at Hogwarts each and every year barring Sixth Year, without fail.

Hermione Granger was walking toward one of her most infamous childhood bullies with another
one escorting her on his arm like some courteous gentlemen, but when she realized how absurd it
was and attempted to yank her arm from his grip, he only held on tighter, pulling her in close to
hiss into her ear.

“Trust me, Granger, you’re going to need all the help you can get with her.”

“That may be well and true, but I never asked for your help.”

She glanced up to Malfoy’s side profile and found that she couldn’t breathe when his eyes jumped
to hers.

She couldn’t look away fast enough.

“Stubborn as always. Glad to know some things never change.”

“I could say the same thing about you being a git, but since I’m a mature adult, I won’t stoop that
low.”

“Too late, Granger. You’ve already said it.”

She was just about to retort something equally as infuriating right back at him, but suddenly they
were at the doors and Pansy Parkinson was eyeing the two of them with blatant and unrestrained
curiosity coloring her features.

She was still beautiful—disgustingly so.

“Pansy, how lovely to see you again after so long. Malfoy here tells me you’d like to speak to me;
perhaps we can take tea in my office together?”

Pansy’s deep red lips quirked up in a smirk not dissimilar to the snake at her side (who was still
holding onto her elbow.)

“How lovely that would be, indeed. Please, lead the way.”

“Of course.”

They ambled their way to the elevators in stunted silence, and Hermione wished that Malfoy would
let her go if only so that he could make small talk with Pansy.

No, she did not want Malfoy to keep holding her arm. Not in any way, shape or form.

His touch was disgusting. Deliriously, distractingly, disarmingly disgusting.

Yes, disgusting. That was definitely the right word for it, Hermione was sure.

“So, you’ve been here since graduating Eighth Year, then?”

“No, actually. I trained at St. Mungo’s for a while, earning a Mastery in Healing before I finally
caved and accepted my current role. Kingsley had been hounding me for quite a while to accept
this job, but I wanted to explore other avenues before accepting.”

“Healing? Wouldn’t have pegged you as the selfless type, considering all that foolish bravery had
to come with its fair share of Gryffindor pride.”

“Yes, well, I suppose it’s a good thing not all of us resemble the worst traits of our houses then,
isn’t it?”

Hermione’s words were pointed toward Pansy, but she felt Malfoy stiffen up beside her regardless.

They all entered the next lift and Hermione found herself sandwiched between Pansy on her left
and Malfoy on her right as more and more patrons crowded in.

Malfoy still hadn’t let go of her arm.

She was starting to wonder why it didn’t bother her so much anymore.

They were receiving stares, and loads of them, but Hermione only smiled at her co-workers and
underlings like it was just any other normal workday.

The lift took a sudden, unexpected jerk to the right and Hermione almost toppled directly into
Malfoy’s body which caused him to let her arm go and completely wrap his arm around her
shoulders to steady her, causing Pansy’s eyes to shoot straight up to her forehead.
“You’re really taking this bodyguard thing quite seriously, then?”

“Kingsley charged me with your safety, and whether that’s protecting you against Dark Wizards or
a finicky lift, I will do my job to the best of my abilities.”

“I’m beginning to see that, Malfoy.”

She didn’t mind that Pansy was watching the two of them very curiously out of her peripheral
vision—or that Malfoy still hadn’t removed his arm from her shoulders.

Really, she should’ve minded—shouldn’t she have?

“Ah, here we are.”

Hermione stepped out first, Malfoy’s arm falling away from her just as she strode onto the floor of
the DMLE and strode toward her office without looking back, pausing once at her secretary’s desk
to ask for tea to be delivered.

Hermione made to undo the wards on her door but Malfoy stood in her way, placing a hand on her
wand and lowering it for her while crowding her.

“I was just going to disable the—”

“The wards, yes Granger, I know. I was going to test them for you.”

“Alright, go ahead.”

Hermione rolled her eyes exasperatedly but watched Malfoy nevertheless as she took a few steps
back to give herself some breathing room. It was quite hard to think when he was in such close
proximity to her.

He snorted loudly, alerting that he found her wards lacking, just like the ones at her home.

“If I thought the safety precautions on your Floo were pathetic, the wards on your office door take
the prize for most incompetent locking spells I’ve ever come across.”

“Excuse me—did you just call my spell work incompetent?”

She couldn’t hide the shrillness in her voice at his smirk that was slowly taking over his annoyingly
chiseled face.

“Glad to hear your wonderful skills of retaining knowledge haven’t fallen by the wayside like your
willingness to protect yourself clearly have. I’ll deal with these wards—I’ll be changing them so
that only the two of us have full access to them. I’ll need some of your blood, though, naturally.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes and threw him her most scornful glare.

“Naturally.”

“Ahem. As much as I’m enjoying the show, I really would like to get on with this.”

“Of course, my apologies Parkinson. Malfoy—”

“Almost done.”

With a flourish of his wand in his lithe fingers—that Hermione was not imagining on her skin—
Malfoy unlocked all her wards and opened the door to Hermione’s office, his hands holding the
door open for both of the witches to go in before him.

“After you,” he purred, that Pureblood gentlemanly way of his that he could turn on and off at will
making him even more infuriating after just insulting her for her lack of warding skills.

“Please, take a seat,” Hermione began, motioning toward a small loveseat and two wingback chairs
facing a small coffee table to the immediate right of her office, twinkling golden lights filling the
space to make up for the lack of windows considering the Ministry’s underground location.

“Nice place Granger. When they said you were two positions beneath the DMLE Department Head
himself, I wondered what kind of office they’d be giving you to kiss your arse even more than they
already have.”

Hermione sighed, taking a seat on one of the solitary chairs while Pansy sat on the couch and
Malfoy snatched up the other seat beside Hermione instead of sitting beside his friend.

She crossed her legs just as the tea was brought up and she took her time stirring in two sugars and
a splash of milk while Pansy took hers with three sugars and a spoonful of honey while Malfoy
declined tea altogether, taking to glancing around the office as if searching for objects that could
suddenly animate and attack Hermione, catching her unawares during the middle of her workday.

She wanted desperately to ask him if he would be crowding her all hours of the day or if he had
other, more Occlumency or Legilimency related business for the Ministry that he’d need to see to
sooner or later.

Instead, she focused her attention on the dark-haired witch with a pretty smile painted on her lethal
lips.

“Yes, the Ministry treats the three of us as if we’re to be put on a pedestal, which was one of the
reasons I was quite adamant about making my own mark in a different way at St. Mungo’s, but my
work eventually brought me here. So, while I don’t necessarily appreciate the preferential
treatment, if it allows me to be in a higher position to push better legislations to make life easier for
those who are outcast or a minority in the Wizarding World, why wouldn’t I capitalize on that?”

Pansy’s smile began to transform into something more genuine than saccharine.

“How very Slytherin of you, Granger. Well, I won’t dance around the subject—I want to know your
plans with my father.”

“Your father? He was sentenced already. He is set to be executed in private in three days time.”

Hermione took a sip, then two more of her tea while Pansy daintily stirred her own drink slowly,
Malfoy watching the entire interaction without speaking up once which was both confusing and yet
understandable to Hermione.

He had been so mercurial in the time that she’d known him after Hogwarts—flirtatious and playful
one moment, then quiet and brooding the next. He was an enigma that Hermione was itching to
wrap her mind around just to crack open the secrets she knew hid under his tough, platinum blonde
exterior.

“I don’t believe that, Granger, and I’d be a fool to considering how terrible of a liar you are.”

“Why do you think I’m lying, Parkinson? What reason would I have to lie to you, of all people?”

“All the ‘executions’ that have been happening aren’t happening in public, they’re all in private.
There aren’t even any witnesses to prove that you’re actually killing the fuckers.”

“Pansy—are you saying you want to be there to see your father’s execution?”

Malfoy’s tone was both amused and appalled.

“Of course I want to see that miserable twat die. I want him to look into my eyes as the light leaves
him and for him to know that it was me who finally got the last laugh—not him. I want him to
know that his only daughter is going to ruin the Parkinson good Pureblood name with a blood
traitor who donates all our Galleons to Muggleborns and Unicorns and bloody House Elves and
there’s not a Godsdamned thing he can do about it!”

Hermione’s head began to swim.

She glanced over at Malfoy and found a frown on his exquisite face, his features pulled down with
a glimmering sense of understanding in his storm cloud eyes.

Hermione’s hands shook as she took her last sip of tea that had a peculiar metallic tinge to it and
tried to focus on Pansy, though there were suddenly two versions of Pansy Parkinson where earlier
there had only been one.

“Pansy—would you like to write a letter to your father, and have one of our Aurors read it aloud to
him before the execution? I’m sorry, but that’s the best I can do. If you want to pursue it further,
you could always ask the Auror to relinquish his memories of the moment he reads your words so
that you could view them in a Pensieve later? I’m sorry but—that’s…that’s all…”

“Granger?”

Malfoy was suddenly crouched in front of her, his hands reaching up to pull her own hands from
her face where she’d pulled them up to rub at her suddenly flickering eyes.

“I’m sorry, my eyes…I’m not feeling so well all of a sudden—”

Hermione cut herself off on a strangled gasp, Malfoy’s skin on hers sending shooting flames up and
down her body until she focused on the concerned flash of worry as it swam in his deep grey eyes.

She reached out a hand to graze his cheekbone, catching on a bit of stubble there, tilting her head to
get a better look at him and blinking hard to dispel the multiple Malfoy’s that were dancing in her
vision.

“Is this what it feels like to be on drugs, I wonder?”

“Pansy, do not drink that tea.”

Somewhere nearby, glass shattered.

His lips were mesmerizing, and as he looked her over with a clinical gaze, her fingers traveled
downward to trace the plump pink line of his lips, sighing in content at the velvety feel of them
beneath her touch.

“So soft…”

“Granger, I’m going to get you to the Floo and to St. Mungo’s, alright? Pansy, you go first.”

“But I didn’t drink any—”

“Do I look like I’m about to argue with you about this? Go. Now.”

“Alright, alright, although I will want to do the letter thing that Granger suggested. Hope she’s not
really drugged.”

The whoosh of the fireplace left the room of her office bathed in a quiet emerald glow for a
moment and Hermione traced the shadows dancing across Malfoy’s face.

“Granger, we’re going to go to St. Mungo’s. Can you stand up for me?”

He pulled away from her hands momentarily to sniff whatever was in her teacup, immediately
throwing it back down before coming back to her.

“Maybe—can you hold onto me?”

She didn’t recognize the pout in her voice or the way she pushed her bottom lip outwards playfully
to get him to agree.

“Fuck, you must really be out of it. Yes, I’ll hold onto you, Granger.”

“Why don’t you call me Hermione?”

Malfoy reached down and roped his arms around her, pulling her to stand with him but her legs
nearly buckled beneath her. He caught her.

She had a feeling he would always catch her.

“It’s your name—its what I’ve always called you. Come on, can you move your feet for me?”

His neck was right beside her face, and she inhaled his scent greedily.

“Did you just…sniff me?”

“Yes, you smell so good. I want to spray whatever it is you smell like all over my clothes, so I can
smell it all the time.”

“Okay, you’re definitely not feeling yourself right now. Come on.”

The flames turned green, but then the strangest thing happened.

Alarms started blaring throughout the entire building.

“What the bloody fuck is going on?”

 “Can you turn that off? It hurts my ears and I just want you to hold me.”

The flames in Hermione’s office fireplace turned green again, but then that sound went off—again
—and Hermione groaned into Malfoy’s shoulder.

His arms tightened around her waist as more alarms could be heard going off all around them.

“Something’s not right—the Floo is blocked. Come on, let’s go try the Atrium. Can you walk for
me, Granger?” He jostled her head a little, but she refused to lift her head up to look at him.
“Granger?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Her legs were suddenly swept out from underneath her and she yelped in delight.

“Finally—I’ve been waiting for you to carry me this whole time Malfoyyyy.”

“When this is all over and figured out, you’re never allowed to go out drinking unless I’m with
you. Gods, could you imagine acting this way with another wizard?”

“No—because he wouldn’t be youuuuu.”

Hermione reached out and tapped the bridge of Malfoy’s nose until he swatted it away with his free
hand.

They were bouncing up and down, up and down, and then they were zooming down so many stairs
Hermione grew even dizzier, the sensations akin to flying.

No one was giving them strange looks, either, as they were all running, and some were even crying,
some were screaming.

Hermione didn’t feel like streaming, she she laid her head on her bodyguard’s shoulder and smiled
to herself, drawing circles on his chest that she hoped would drive him crazy.

“Dracooooo,” Hermione began, whispering in his ear and biting it softly while Draco swore under
his breath.

They’d just made it to what seemed like a large, open space with lots of witches and wizards
running past in a frantic hurry when a deafening boom sounded, something exploded above them,
and Draco threw Hermione to the side in order to keep her from being hit with whatever it was.

She turned her head mid-air and saw that it was a giant section of concrete ceiling that had
exploded from above.

She only caught sight of Draco once more before she hit the ground, and after seeing his eyes on
her, she knew it would be okay to close her eyes, if only for a little while.

Chapter End Notes

Hello my lovely readers! I hope you're all enjoying the journey Stealing Emeralds is taking us
all on--including myself! Just wanted to say that this is a completely rough first draft with no
beta reader, so bear with me as I attempt over 100k words of dramione!

Until next time my lovely readers,

Kristen :)
 Chapter 12
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

June 20, 2005

Smoke was clogging Hermione’s nose, and she couldn’t breathe.

Malfoy was in front of her screaming, but she couldn’t make out the words.

Rubble.

Rubble, and debris all around them and—

A severed hand, a woman’s shoe…

An abandoned pram for a baby that was nowhere to be seen.

The Ministry was in absolute shambles, and Malfoy was firing off half a dozen hexes within the
span of seconds, and from the rate at which the darkly-clothed assailants were dropping like flies,
Hermione could only ascertain that he was very, very good at his job.

“Get the fuck behind me, Granger!”

She had stood slowly on shaking legs, the blood dripping from a wound on her head she hadn’t
quite felt yet, before Malfoy’s hand was digging into her scarred arm and pushing her behind him,
only to dodge and duck and force her to the ground as another spell came whizzing past them.

Suddenly, his entire torso was covering hers as she lay sprawled on the cold tiled floor of the
Ministry.

She prayed to whatever deity listened to her whims and cursed her life that the fleshy object
beneath her wasn’t a severed limb, or belonging to someone dead underneath her lower back.

Vomit threatened to roil up in her stomach just as the screeching of the alarms drove blood from her
eardrums, but Malfoy only tightened his hold on her and stared deeply into her wonder-shocked
eyes.

His eyes…

“They’re so pretty, up close. Your eyes.”

They were, it was true.

She would’ve gladly gotten lost in his eyes if it meant forgetting the chaos unwinding all around
them.
Hermione allowed it to happen—the shock to override her system and shut her entire body down,
to let the fear and pain abate while holding on to childish notions, like that stupid, idiotic crush that
one time in Sixth Year…

“Granger, look at me. We need to get you past the Anti-Apparition Wards. The Floo’s are
completely blocked, everyone’s trying all of them but they’re all shut down. This had to be an
inside job, but we can make it. You can make it. Do you understand me?”

Before Hermione could respond, Malfoy reached into his robes after stashing his wand between his
teeth and pulled out a dagger with a serrated edge.

Dark, ancient magic roiled off the blade.

She only had a moment to think before he was grabbing her by the waist, dagger in his right hand
and his wand in the left that was still tugging her into his body and then they were running for the
exit, over half a dozen black cloaks and masks blocking their way.

Hermione blinked and Malfoy’s blade was embedded directly into a mask directly where the
person’s nose should have been.

The Death Eater was on the ground, paralyzed, when suddenly the dagger vanished and reappeared
directly in Malfoy’s hand once again.

His wand arm was moving against her side, flinging hexes left and right as a Protego was flung up
around them, and a powerful one at that.

She had never been more attracted to him before in all the time she’d known him, and it must’ve
been the poison in her system making her think such delirious things, but the way the spells
whizzing past both of them made his hair fly around his piercing face and the fierceness ricocheting
in his gaze as red and green lights turned his grey eyes technicolor, Hermione was completely
under a spell of his own making that he surely hadn’t intended to cast on her.

Not a single spell made it past his barrier.

All the while, Hermione was dumbfounded and feeling useless, stumbling around half blind
watching Malfoy stab Death Eater after Death Eater with his enchanted blade and cast wordless
spells that deflected as well as cursed.

Hermione briefly wondered where he’d developed such innate battle strategy training, but before
the thought could be fully fleshed out, the face of Fenrir Greyback was floating in and out of
Hermione’s mind’s eye, and she momentarily believed she was going mad before her hand clamped
around her wand and she had one of her most vicious hexes exploding from her wand, uncaring if
the Ministry checked her wand afterward and found her to be performing dark magic on Death
Eaters.

They hadn’t punished her for it as a seventeen-year-old after learning the spells on the run in
banned spell books she’d stolen, so why would they have punished her in defense of her life and of
the Ministry itself?

Harry’s voice rang out in the air, screaming someone’s name but she couldn’t make out whose.
Then Ron was yelling Hermione’s name, and she looked over just as another explosion rocked
through the Ministry and Malfoy launched himself over her body, his arms wrapping protectively
around her as more rubble rained down on them and smoke and debris clouded her eyes.

There was no sound, only the heartbeat of Draco Malfoy atop her own, the scratching wheeze of
her breath as she attempted to inhale with a formidable man crushing her below him.

Hermione had the strangest desire to curl up against his body—to wrap her arms and legs around
him and never let him escape her grip. Maybe she would be safer that way…

“Hermione!”

Ron’s voice was a hoarse cry, followed by a pained shout as Malfoy hugged her tighter to him.

“Bloody idiot calling out his position to everyone that wants him dead. Keep quiet Granger, and I’ll
get us out alive.”

“M-my—what about—”

“The wonder boys are trained Aurors. They’ll be just fine, but you’ve got a massive head injury
and can barely keep your head upright. I am getting you out of here. Do you understand?”

His voice tickled the hairs by Hermione’s ears that were too sensitive from the explosions, and she
couldn’t nod her head as that caused a blinding, splintering sort of pain to shoot through her entire
head and neck.

“Yes,” she whispered into his neck, the faint scent of his cologne still clinging to the last dregs of
his skin that wasn’t covered up in dirt and dust from the explosions.

His skin was so close to her lips that they brushed over the stubble on his lower jaw.

If only she could close her eyes and pretend; block out the scents and sounds all around her.
Pretend, pretend, pretend.

Suddenly, she was in the Hogwarts corridors, running for her life with Ron’s hand in hers and a
Basilisk fang in the other.

The dead faces of her friends looked up at her unseeing from the ground below her.

It was happening all over again, and there was nothing either of them could do to stop it.

If only her damned head would stop spinning—

“Wait. Malfoy, I think this is more than a head wound.”

Her voice came out a strangled whisper just as he pulled slightly away from her, and she somehow
missed his warmth and the touch of his skin against the soft flesh of her lips.

“What do you mean?”

His eyes doubled in Hermione’s vision, but she forced herself to focus on one set of them, their
blue tinted grey swimming in circles while she gathered her wits about her and ignored the itching
in her arm, the throbbing in her head, the panic in her veins and the blood dripping a steady line
into her eyes.

“I mean—I think there was something put into my tea earlier, with Pansy. That was why I was
acting so strangely—”

“Pansy didn’t do—”

“I wasn’t accusing her—plenty of people could’ve had access to my tea. I’m just saying that you
were right—this was definitely an inside job. I have no idea when this will wear off, but I’ve been
drugged.”

More action was occurring all around them, but while playing dead they had the chance to gather
themselves and Malfoy gripped his wand tighter as another protection shield rose up all around
them, shimmering purple and blue as the smoke bounced harmlessly off of it.

Perhaps the protection enchantment did too good of a job, however, as at first only one or two
spells bounced off the shield, until four, five, six—ten, twelve spells came flying toward them and
ripples began to form in Malfoy’s spellwork.

“I knew it would be the end of the world before Hermione Granger admitted I was right. Okay, I’m
going to cause a distraction and then I’ll pull you up and try to make it closer to the door. Most of
the other Aurors have been sending out distress signals, so back-up should be on the—”

“Golden Girl! We don’t want to hurt you—we just want to talk!”

Malfoy’s hand planted itself over her mouth before she could make a sound, as if she would’ve
been stupid enough to do so.

That was the sound of Amycus Carrow’s voice, the tenor and deep braying tone of it having been
branded onto her mind much like the scar on her arm.

“You’ve been a naughty little witch, and we’re just here to teach you a lesson. You’ve been playing
with magic that’s not even yours, and you—oof!”

Malfoy moved malevolently, slithering against Hermione’s body like the namesake of his Hogwarts
house as his arm that had been keeping her trapped against him on the ground twitched upwards
and flung his blade without warning in the exact direction of the voice of Amycus Carrow.

Hermione didn’t have to turn her head and see the dagger sticking out of the dark wizard’s eye sans
mask for her to know that he was dead, but she looked anyway.

Amycus’ body swayed slightly before toppling over.

The dagger was back in Malfoy’s hand within seconds, gleaming crimson blood glinting off the red
and green cast of spells being flung in the back of the entrance to the Ministry.

“Did you just—”

“Hush.”

As Amycus fell, however, calls for retreat rang out amongst the remaining Death Eaters whilst a
shiver-inducing, beastly roar rang out through the room as the rest of the Aurors gathered their
bearings.

Malfoy had her hauled up against his chest in a heartbeat, half carrying her as she spotted a shock
of red hair battling a pair of Death Eaters back to back with a dark-haired wizard who, when he
turned slightly toward her, Hermione realized with a breath of relief was Harry.

They were safe. She could rest.

She went limp against Malfoy’s chest, his warm body imbuing her with something akin to comfort
as she let his scent wash over her and flood her with the feelings of safety and calm.

A green jettison of light grazed the skin of Hermione’s ear just as Malfoy growled lowly and
whirled away from her just moments before slicing the caster’s wand arm clean off his—or her—
body with his trusted dagger.

The dagger didn’t stop there in its trajectory.

No, instead, after cutting off the Death Eaters arm, Malfoy’s dagger swam through the air as if
gliding on an errant wave until it impaled the leg of Fenrir Greyback who was just to their left.

He was close enough to see the furry hackles on the sides of his neck raise in attack, but before he
could stampede over to them and rip them to shreds as he’d done to an abandoned corpse lying
beside him, two wizards rushed him and caught him in a body-binding spell.

She didn’t have to check the shade of hair to know that it had been Harry and Ron.

Malfoy’s breath was hot on her neck.

“Run.”

She tried to force her legs to comply as he helped her escape the Ministry, Death Eaters shooting
red and green on their tail.

The sun blinded her moments before there was a familiar tug behind her navel and then she fell into
the familiarity of the apparition.

They landed in the lobby to St. Mungo’s, which was a veritable madhouse with Mediwitches and
injured Aurors and Ministry workers bleeding and broken sprawled across every available bed and
open space.

“Triage One! What are your injuries?”

Hermione could only make out the blur of green robes as a Mediwitch grabbed her from Malfoy
who seemed both slightly relieved yet simultaneously wary about the Mediwitch but relented her to
the healer’s care while giving a rundown of everything she’d endured.

“Blunt-force head injury from falling debris during an explosion, possible poisoning of unknown
substance which caused temporary delirium and possible hallucinations, slurred speech and blurred
vision; dizziness, fatigue, and confusion. Blood loss.”

Hermione’s eyes widened at Malfoy as he accurately and efficiently listed off all her ailments in
record time.
 She had finally come to see what exactly Kingsley had been doing when he assigned Malfoy to be
her glorified bodyguard. She wouldn’t be complaining about that fact ever again, either—not after
the way he’d protected her and kept her safe throughout the entire bloody battle at the Ministry.

“We’ll get you to a bed, you can go now sir, she is in good hands.”

He turned to leave, but there was something burning Hermione up on the inside, and maybe it was
the poison or the head injury or any number of other things, but she couldn’t let him leave without
saying something to him, anything.

“Draco!”

He stopped cold, flinching at the sound of his name falling from her lips, but didn’t say anything in
response, only cocking his head to the side as if waiting for her question.

A piece of soot-stained platinum hair fell into his eyes, but he didn’t brush it away.

“You’ll come back?”

“Where else would I go? You’re my Principle, remember?”

She only had one inhale of air to consider his words before he was out the door and would soon
Apparate back to the Ministry to finish what she had started and, at the sight of her un-glamoured
arm fresh and blackened for all the world to see, she could only hope that there would be more
Death Eaters captured than were killed.

She couldn’t steal magic from the dead, after all.

Chapter End Notes

Hello my lovely readers! I hope you enjoy this double update as I had an idea that struck me
and I ran with it! Please let me know what you all think!

Until next time my lovely readers,

Kristen :)
 Chapter 13
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

June 21, 2005

Draco’s eyes could hardly stay open in the bleary after light of the harsh morning sun.

“Is that all, Minister?”

“Yes, that’s all. Please return to your Principle, she should be waking up now.”

Draco nodded his head in agreement, wishing upon everything that he had been with her that entire
time rather than sitting through hour after endless hour of bureaucratic nonsense, helping the non-
injured Aurors tag and chronicle each and every Death Eater than they had captured in the
aftermath of their failed raid on the Ministry.

And while Amycus Carrow had been killed by Draco himself, the second-in-command, Fenrir
Greyback, had escaped by the narrow skin of his teeth.

Draco could still remember the taste of his own blood as the Werewolf slashed him across the
mouth with his razor-sharp talons before sprinting away with the rest of his followers, taking
advantage of the newly opened Floo network.

They’d captured and contained over fifteen Death Eaters, but while theirs was a dying crusade,
there were at least thirty or so more that had escaped, ready to go out into the world to recruit just
as many as they had lost to death or capture.

Only three Death Eaters had been killed during the raid, and that had been due to Draco’s
willingness to inflict mortal injury, unlike so many others.

At least he hadn’t cast Unforgivables on his wand. The Ministry still didn’t know about his
enchanted blade that he’d inherited from his father’s vaults, and he was more than happy to keep it
that way.

Not that they would’ve punished him too harshly for it, considering Potter himself had used an
Imperius Curse on one of the Death Eaters, forcing him to drop his own wand and hold his hands
out for capture.

But somehow, Draco wondered if the rules would’ve been different for him if it had been him to
conduct that specific curse.

Draco shook himself and stood from the room with Robards, Shacklebolt, Potter and Weasley as
well as multiple other department heads that had gathered for the large meeting that occurred in the
early morning hours of the day in order to fill everyone in on the results from the failed Death Eater
raid and the clean-up efforts that would be all hands on deck afterward.
Draco had just turned to escape to the Atrium where he could finally move toward the official
Apparition point in the Ministry but before he could do anything, two hands were gripping his arms
and pulling him back.

He turned sharply around and noticed that while the majority of the room had cleared, Potter had
stayed behind and currently had his hands all over Draco’s arms.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing Potter?”

He made sure to empty as much malice as physically possible into his tone to make sure Potter
knew just how much his unwanted touch was unwelcome, but the Scarhead Boy Wonder only
rolled his green eyes behind black spectacles and moved them both to a corner where they couldn’t
be overheard and cast a wandless spell that made sure they weren’t overheard that his own
godfather had invented during his time as a student at Hogwarts.

“I just wanted to go to St. Mungo’s with you to visit Hermione, relax. Are you leaving now?”

He didn’t respond to Potter, only ripped his arm out of his grasp and stalked toward the designated
Apparition point.

“Slow down, Malfoy. Merlin, what’s got you all tied up in knots?”

His Principle was unguarded at a hospital, unconscious, directly after an attempt on her life, that
was what had him all ‘tied up in knots’ as Potter had so eloquently put it, but he wasn’t about to
open his mouth and tell him that.

Draco had Apparated and taken one step toward the front desk when Potter appeared and struggled
to keep up with the long strides of Malfoy’s legs.

He wouldn’t have admitted it to Potter either, but he was also a bit cross with the Ministry itself, as
well, in the way that it conducted itself after an attack.

Accusing their own members of being in on the attack simply because of past prejudices was
enough to have Draco agree to be interviewed under Veritaserum to subdue any doubts on his
loyalties, though they didn’t know that he’d learned certain methods to bypass that certain truth-
telling serum.

The Dark Lord had developed something much more potent, and Draco would be keeping that
recipe to himself, to use only when he desperately needed it.

“I’m here for Hermione Granger. Where is she?”

The Healer at the front desk sent Draco a strange look until she spotted Boy Wonder number 1
behind him and her eyes widened quickly before stammering out a room and floor number.

Draco swept away without a word in thanks, or a second glance.

“Merlin, Malfoy, how does anyone keep up with you walking that fast?”

“They don’t.”

Draco felt increasingly more and more on edge as the walls of the hospital closed in on him,
reminding him of the multiple times he’d been inside its walls and told that his father wouldn’t
make it past the next month, week, year. Each time, the diagnosis changed.

Every day he got better, but his mind was still slipping.

The Healers were missing something.

Maybe it was a result of the Dementor’s Kiss, but Draco knew that it was something his father
would never come back from. They had limited time with him, and he needed to make the most of
it while he was still sane.

Draco had just shouldered past a door with a burly male Healer keeping guard outside before he
burst into the room with Granger lying prone in a single bed, in a separate, private room set off
from the other victims of the attack on the Ministry.

“Only family and—oh, Mr. Potter. Please, go in. Take your time.”

Didn’t take that damned Healer long to fold.

Her long eyelashes brushed the creamy skin of her freckled cheeks while the sallow pallor of her
face gleamed pale and dull in the dim lighting of the hospital.

“She looks so…small.”

Draco snorted at his inspection, but said nothing more.

Draco simply pulled up a chair to Granger’s bedside, counted each rise and fall of her breaths, and
wondered idly when she’d received enough of a wound on her arm to have it bandaged up so
thoroughly.

Draco sat, Potter stood, and no one spoke.

He would wait all night if he had to, for that color to return to her cheeks.

He’d wait however long it took to see the fire in her eyes again.

***

“Don’t know why bloody Malfoy is here—he’s been at her bedside like a dog waiting for a bone
since Kingsley finished the meetings.”

Harry motioned toward Malfoy, keeping his voice down as they spoke in hushed tones outside of
Hermione’s hospital door.

“You know why he’s here—he’s basically her glorified bodyguard.”

“I dunno if I believe that. You see the way that bloke looks at her? That’s not business, mate—
that’s personal.”
Malfoy’s eyes were trained on Hermione’s face as if searching for a twitch of her eyes, a hitch in
her breath.

It was the single most intense stare he’d ever seen in his life.

“So, what, you think he’s using her for something?”

Harry doubted it. He was sure it was only Malfoy being too strangely obsessed with his protection
duties given to him by Kingsley specifically, but that wouldn’t stop Ron from speculating.

“Of course he’s using her—it’s Malfoy! I bet he’s trying to get close to her to try and reform his
image with society. I heard he’s too progressive for the Purebloods and too Pureblood for, well,
everyone else not in high society. What if he’s going to try and use her like that? What if she falls
for it?”

“You know Hermione—she’s clearly smarter than the both of us. If he tries to pull anything
untoward like that to her, then she would know immediately that his intentions were impure.”

“Yeah but—look at him. He’s slimy. He’s manipulative. I still don’t trust him one bit, especially not
in this department or watching over Hermione, but at least he knows that if anything happens to her
on his watch, then its straight to Azkaban, no matter what happened. He won’t risk his life like
that.”

If there was one thing Harry could always trust, it would be his distrust and hatred for the entire
Malfoy family, not matter how many times Harry tried to defend him to his best friend. Ron would
never believe Malfoy had turned to the side of the Light, even if he had the world’s most awful
manners toward anyone not in high society.

“Did you see in his interview under Veritaserum? He was one of the only ones to volunteer to be
dosed because he knew eyes would immediately turn to him in suspicion. He said he threw blades
at the Death Eaters—multiple blades. I didn’t see him with multiple blades—or any at all, just his
wand. I wonder if he’s got a Dark Object he was using? But surely, if he was under Veritaserum, he
would’ve been compelled to say so.”

“Unless he’s developed a tolerance to the serum.”

Harry rolled his eyes at his best friend’s admission.

“Ron, that’s impossible. There’s no known person ever in the history of the Wizarding World who
has been able to resist the effects of Veritaserum.”

“I’m just saying—all that time with You-Know-Who, maybe he picked up a thing or two. It could
explain why we haven’t got a single thing from the captured Death Eaters, no matter how much we
pump them full of the stuff.”

“Maybe…I’ll speak to Kingsley and Robards about the possibility. Until then, keep an eye on
Hermione and Malfoy when you can. I know you don’t have full clearance on her project, but that
doesn’t mean that you won’t be involved in some way. I’ll speak to Robards about upping your
clearance level, as well.”

“No, Harry. I actually agree with my restricted clearance. If it’s as serious as you’re making it
seem, and the Death Eaters attacked because of it, then I understand why it needs to be so closely
guarded. I can deal with limited knowledge, but what I can’t deal with is that slimy git making eyes
at our girl.”

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise at that.

“Our girl?”

“Oh don’t give me that look, mate. I know we’re not together like that anymore, but I still care
about her. She’s still Hermione—I’ll always love her. Maybe a part of her will always love me,
too.”

“Why do you look a little too hopeful about that Ron?”

“Ugh—I don’t know. I’ve got Lav, and I’ve got Daph. I don’t know what the bloody hell I’m doing
there, but I know that I’m totally done with Hermione on that front.”

“You’re stringing along two very high-strung witches at the same time—if you were trying to add
Hermione to the mix I’d have you relegated to the Janus Thickey Ward on floor three.”

Harry was sure that in the end, Ron would be the one to end them all with his penchant for
womanizing. What was it that everyone always said? Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned…

“Ha-ha, Harry. Very funny. I didn’t realize being savior of the entire Wizarding World made you
qualified as a comedian as well.”

“Hey, all I’m saying is be careful mate. Lavender has an important position with the Prophet that
can end all of our social lives. Who knows what she could write about us? You saw how hard she
was on Hermione. Just—make good choices, Ron.”

Ron snorted with derision and rolled his eyes.

“Sure, mate. Sure.”

***

“Oh, Draco, there you are dear. What are you doing here?”

Draco’s mother caught him off guard in the hallway after a long-delayed bathroom trip.

“Mother. I’m working, actually.”

Narcissa Malfoy’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, the white-blonde of her hair swaying slightly
behind her shoulders as she straightened her shoulders.

“Oh, well, I’m just now coming from a meeting with your father’s Healers. He’s been admitted,
again. I’m afraid he’s had another bad day. Not that you would know—”

“Mother, have you not heard?”

“Heard what?”

Draco sighed and ran a hand through the blonde fringe in front of his eyes and placed his weary
eyes on his mother, but before he could answer her, she spoke up for him.

“Oh, and before I forget, do you have the name?”

“The name?”

“Honestly, Draco. The name. The name of the witch you’ve decided to court? I mean, really, dear.
Are you working too hard at this job? How could you forget—”

His mother was cut off by three Healers rushing by speaking loudly about one Hermione Granger.

Draco didn’t care about decorum or politeness or about appearing uncouth.

He grabbed the arm of the male Healer that was rushing past and held him in a vise grip before
pinning the wizard with one of his signature glares.

“What of Hermione Granger?”

“I—uh—Mr. Malfoy! I really am not supposed to—”

“I assure you, this will go much more smoothly if you simply tell me what I need to know. What of
Hermione Granger’s state?”

“I’m not allowed to disclose—”

Draco didn’t blink before wordlessly entering the wizard’s barely guarded mind.

He slipped in easily, so as to not be discovered, but what he found there worried him.

Hermione had a bleed on her brain from the initial explosion, and there was something in the tea
she had been drinking that kept her from healing fully.

No, not in the tea. There was poison somewhere else.

Poison in her arm, crawling up her shoulder, inching nearer and nearer to her heart.

It was effectively killing her.

Its origin point?

The scar his aunt had given her during the war seven years earlier.

The Healers had only discovered it recently, as she hadn’t reported it before, even during the years
she’d been studying to Heal.

Draco pulled from the Healer’s mind swiftly, glaring into his mud-brown eyes, much more dull and
flat than the lively amber of Granger’s toffee eyes that reminded him of milky coffee and sun-
kissed leaves in the beginning stages of Autumn.

Eyes that would fade from life if this poison wasn’t contained, and healed.
 “Draco, let that man go to do his job.”

Draco hadn’t realized he’d been squeezing the man’s arm so hard he was wincing in pain and fear.

He released him at once, but stumbled back into the embrace of his mother who looked upon him
as if she’d never seen him before.

“Draco, love, what is the matter?”

“I—I need to see her.”

“Her? Who?”

“Granger.”

“Oh, I see what this is about. You’re worried for the girl.”

“What? Oh, yes, sure.”

“So, she is the one, then?”

“Hm?”

Draco couldn’t concentrate, his mind rushing toward the possible antidotes that Granger had likely
already tried multiple different ways in hundreds of different combinations.

He was too far behind—he needed to ask her what all she’d tried, all the avenues—why the fuck
hadn’t she told anyone?

Why hadn’t she told him?

“She is the witch you’ve chosen then? Hermione Granger? I must say, if so, I am rather impressed
with your bravery. If I didn’t know any better, I’d ask how this Gryffindor sense of adventure had
rubbed off on you, but considering the girls’ house, it makes sense.”

“Yes, mother. I’m sorry—I need to speak with Granger. There are some things I need to discuss
with her.”

There was a knowing twinkle in his mother’s eyes that hadn’t been there before, and that very
much scared Draco even more than the impending conversation with Granger.

He was going to find a way to fix what his aunt had done, no matter the consequences.

He was not going to fail her—not again.

Never again.

Chapter End Notes

I hope you enjoyed my delve into an alternate POV! More will be coming if the plot demands,
but majority of the time it will either be Hermione or Draco!

Let me know what you all think of this story so far!

Until next time my lovely readers,

Kristen :)
 Chapter 14

GOLDEN TRIO AND DRACO MALFOY THWART DEATH EATER ATTACK ON THE
MINISTRY
By Rita Skeeter
22, June 2005
The Daily Prophet

As the sun broke on the morning of June 20, 2005—a day like any other—Death Eaters Amycus
Carrow and Werewolf Fenrir Greyback began rallying their supporters in the midst of a planned
attack that would shake the foundations of the Ministry of Magic itself. At 10:07 in the morning, an
explosion detonated in one of the lift systems and all of the Floo network connections were
effectively cut off, and Anti-Apparition wards were placed strategically to keep their target from
escaping.

And what was said target, one might ask? The Minister of Magic did not give comment on the
reason for the brutality of such an attack, but he did have this to say:

“The Ministry is strong; we have survived wars and we will survive them again, I am sure, though I
will do everything in my power to make sure it will not come to that. The attack on the Ministry was
a complete and total failure, as one of our newest Aurors Draco Malfoy eradicated the threat of
one Amycus Carrow, and nearly took down the infamously heinous werewolf Fenrir Greyback as
well but was focused on his primary job of protecting an asset and was attempting to let our Elite
Auror team take Greyback out, but unfortunately, he escaped.

“The Department of Magical Law Enforcement rounded up over twenty-seven Death Eaters who
had infiltrated the Ministry, and while the Aurors suffered no casualties, the same can’t be said for
the Death Eaters, as a former member of Tom Riddle’s (Voldemort) inner circle was killed, as well
as three other unnamed Death Eaters at this time.

“We are classifying this as a win for the Ministry of Magic. We remain strong and undivided, and
even in the face of a surprise attack, we stood triumphant in the face of bigotry and blood
supremacy. I will continue to strengthen our Auror department, as well as make sure that every
individual responsible for this attack is found, and punished. Thank you.”

When asked for a comment on the nature of the asset he was protecting during the time of the
attack and if the asset was the reason for the plot, newly minted Auror Draco Malfoy, (who was
found in the waiting area of St. Mungo’s) gave no comment.

The surprise at Mr. Malfoy’s new position at the Ministry in the Auror department comes after a
seven-year long question about where his true loyalties lay, and with this new chosen occupation
and his stunning conduct during the attack against Death Eaters that he might once have been
associated with put those concerns and doubts to rest once and for all.

As for the Golden Trio during the attack, Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter could be seen fighting
back-to-back in a resilient effort to push back the Death Eaters, said one inside source during the
battle.
“It was unlike anything I’d ever seen—they moved so in sync, like they were born to fight together.
I was awe-struck, scared for my life, but I knew if Ron Weasley and Harry Potter were there, then I
would be alright.”

And where was Hermione Granger during the attack, one might ask? Inside sources say they saw
her take a nasty blow to the head as well as other injuries, but our source lost sight of her after the
initial blast, instead sticking close to the boys in the Golden Trio.

When asked, the Healers at St. Mungo’s could neither confirm, nor deny, Miss Granger’s health
status, so this paper is left to speculate on the condition of the Golden Girl herself and if she will
make a swift and smooth recovery.

Amycus Carrow and Fenrir Greyback had been inactive in the five years since the Battle of
Hogwarts, but in the past two years have been cited for stirring up trouble on the outskirts of
Wizarding London—reports of children being bitten by the werewolf in neighborhoods only a few
miles from Diagon Alley, sightings of moonlit gatherings with over a dozen members, and more.

While the two mentioned above were only speculated as having been involved in these incidents,
after the attack on the Ministry, they were proven as fact—and with the capture of so many of their
sycophantic followers, one can only hope that the Ministry has the best Legilimens on hand in
order to peruse the minds of these sick individuals to stop this growing unrest before it has a
chance to take off once more.

One thing is for sure, however—Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt was seen leaving the
Ministry in a fit of rage after the attack, and one can only discern from this that he will not rest
until those who brought harm to this government are brought to justice.
 Chapter 15
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

June 22, 2005

Hermione awoke to brandishing sunlight and Harry Potter leaning over her, bespectacled green
eyes and all.

“Hermione, oh thank Merlin. I was so worried about you.”

“Harry. What happened with the attack? How long have I been here? What time is it? Is everyone
alright? I can’t remember—what happened to—Malfoy! Oh, Gods, Harry what—”

“Hermione! Calm down, please, I can explain everything, just please take a deep breath.”

Harry’s hands were on her shoulders and a placating smile was on his face.

“No one died, everyone’s fine. Well, except the Death Eaters, but that’s another story altogether.
You’re okay, we’re okay, everything is okay. We captured twenty-seven of them, Hermione.
Twenty-seven! And Malfoy killed Carrow, almost got to Greyback too if he wasn’t so concerned
with getting you out of there, not that I’m complaining. I might not like him as a person, but I can’t
deny his skills as a new Auror. Kingsley was right to have him on your protection detail—he saved
your life, Mione.”

“Yes…yes, I do remember him jumping in front of a curse or two for me.”

“Well, remind me to send him a thank-you card. Merlin, Hermione I was so scared. Your head
injury wasn’t serious enough to take out the front piece of your skull and regrow it, but they almost
had to do that. Ron and I were terrified, just thinking about the fact that you could’ve lost your
memories. Oh, that reminds me, actually. Padma!”

The dark-haired witch from Ravenclaw came stumbling over to Hermione’s bedside, a relieved
smile on her effortlessly beautiful face.

“Thank goodness you’re alright, Hermione. We were all so very worried. Harry…if you would,
could you please give us a moment?”

“A—a moment? Padma, she just woke up, aren’t I her medical proxy.”

“You are, Harry. But this is a delicate situation. You understand, don’t you?”

Hermione understood that knowing gleam in Padma’s eyes—the pity.

“It’s alright, Harry. I’m sure it’s just…women stuff.”

Harry’s face bloomed bright red.

“Oh, right. Brilliant. Well, I’ll just go find the Weasleys and let them know you’re going to be
alright—you are right? She is, going to be alright?”

There was a slight tremor to the quality of his voice.

Hermione gripped Harry’s hand and gave him a placid smile, even if it pulled at a sore muscle on
her cheek.

“Yes, Harry. I’m going to be just fine.”

He sighed out in relief, reassured by Hermione’s warmth and assuredness, and nodded once to each
witch before patting Hermione’s hand and departing from the room.

The door had barely closed before Padma pounced.

“Hermione, I need to ask you some questions to assess any possible brain damage, and while I ask
you, I will conduct some preliminary healing tests to make sure you’re healing as expected. You
might feel some warm tingling in your abdomen. Now, what day is it?”

“Yes, Padma, please go ahead, I am very familiar with the testing after my apprenticeship and
mastery here at Mungo’s. I’m not sure, I know I’ve been unconscious since the attack on the
Ministry, which was June 20th, 2005. Is that correct? How long have I been here?”

Padma smiled serenely at Hermione while conducting diagnostic spell-work across her stomach
where blinking yellow, and green lights floated, along with a deep red, pulsing, angry light that
Hermione knew spoke of imminent death.

It was the exact same spell Hermione had cast on herself day after day to determine the poison’s
progress in her veins.

“Yes, sorry Hermione I keep forgetting you’ve earned a mastery in Healing; we were in different
classes at the very beginning stages, and I’m sure you skipped multiple levels coming in due to
your previous experience. The attack happened two days ago, and we’ve been monitoring a bleed
on your brain from your head injury that wouldn’t quite seem to heal, no matter what we tried. I’m
honestly surprised you’re awake now with no confusion or gap in your memories. What was the
last thing you remember?”

“I remember...I remember Malfoy Apparating the two of us here, and then he left to go back and
help with the attack. Did…is he here? We’re working on a very sensitive project at the Ministry,
and if he was captured, we could all be vulnerable and—”

“I’m right here, Granger. No need to worry over me.”

Hermione whipped her head to the side to see Draco Malfoy striding into the room, perfectly well,
not a scratch on him. If he had been injured, he must’ve been healed immediately after the dust
settled.

He was as put together and clean as she remembered him being the morning of the attack, before
the explosion.

“Malfoy—Harry told me you got Amycus, and Greyback got away as well? Is there anything more
you can tell me—”
“Slow down, Granger,” he began, that surly drawl more pronounced than usual, an angry twitch in
the tight set of his jaw and mouth.

“Mr. Malfoy, Hermione is in no state to be talking business—”

“I am here on orders of the Minister, so unless you want me to take this to him, then I can—”

“Padma, it’s alright. I suppose he’s my…bodyguard of sorts. And after the events of the attack, I
can honestly say I feel safer with him in the room after everything. I give consent for him to be in
here while we go over my status.”

Her brown eyes flitted between the two of them, eyebrows furrowing in confusion and skepticism,
but nodded her head nonetheless as she released a puff of air that blew a strand of her dark hair up
and over her forehead.

Malfoy took up post on the other side of the room, leaned up against the wall with his legs crossed
at the ankle, and he took his wand out to steeple it between his fingers to pretend he wasn’t
listening to the conversation between Hermione and Padma.

“Mind casting a Muffliato, Padma?”

“Not at all. Thanks for teaching me that one after the war, by the way.”

After Padma took her wand out and silenced their conversation, Malfoy squinted his eyes in
suspicion before returning to trying to look aloof. His grey eyes were drawn in concentration, but
Hermione was busy staring at the clean cut of his jaw and the black lines of his suit jacket, matched
with the rest of his ensemble. No work robes today—no, these were his off-duty clothes, and yet he
was still at St. Mungo’s.

Maybe Kingsley hadn’t given him a partner to switch off with. Would he be her assigned guard
twenty-four seven?

Hermione shook her head to clear it just before Padma began.

“Alright, then. I’d like to go over the minor things before the major, if that’s alright with you. The
scarring in your abdomen was a serious point of concern for us at first, as we theorized it could’ve
been a hastily healed injury done incorrectly until we determined how old the scarring actually was.
You’ll want to come back in to have it looked over if you want to have children in the future,
Hermione. You won’t be able to conceive otherwise, and we have experimental methods that have
removed scar tissue by one hundred percent in the trials. Please, keep that in mind. Next, there was
a bleed on your brain from the head injury. It seems you were injured at the top of your head with
falling debris from the initial explosion at the Ministry, but the bleed was uncontrolled. We were
only just able to staunch the flow by using a mixture of blood-replenishing potions, blood-clotting
potions, and anti-inflammatory medicines. We were so close to having to magically repair your
skull, but our Healers were working on you overnight to heal the fracture in your skull. We were
surprised you were conscious for the whole of the attack, after suffering such a traumatic injury.

“The drug in your system was a combination of Amortentia and an unknown sedative introduced to
your system by mouth, we’re assuming through whatever you’d had to drink that morning. Malfoy
couldn’t give us many details on that front. Now…as for the most serious, your arm.”

Hermione cringed.
“Yes. Go ahead. I already know everything there is to know about my arm, Padma. I’ve been
researching cures for years. I got it during the war. Bellatrix’s cursed blade. Nothing I’ve tried
works. Well, actually, one thing works, but it’s not a cure, and the relief from the effects of the
poison are only temporary. At least it’s a reprieve while I search for the actual cure.”

“Hermione…why haven’t you told anyone? With my calculations, even if you have something to
slow the effects, you have at least six months left to live.”

Hermione could hardly stand the look of pity on her friend’s face.

“I’m aware. The temporary reprieve stops the poison in its tracks for at least a week, two at most,
before it starts back up again, at a much slower pace than before, but it still inches closer. If I could
use the solution every day, it would be fine, but that just isn’t feasible. The solution is…
complicated and dangerous and long-term effects have never been studied, and no I cannot tell you
what that solution I’ve found is, as it would put you at risk. I promise I know what I’m doing.”

“You at least could come in once a week for blood-replenishers—for Murtlap Essence, or Dittany!
Have you tried—”

“Murtlap Essence soothes the site and helps with the inflammation and bleeding, but that’s it.
Dittany seeps into the wound, but then it mixes with the poison and starts steaming, boiling my
own blood as it attempts to draw the poison from my very body. It hasn’t ended well the few times
I tried it. Trust me, Padma. When I say I’ve tried everything, I have. I ventured to different
countries, continents, even. Short of scouring the dark magic libraries of blood supremacists—”

Hermione stopped in her tracks, eyes swinging up to where Malfoy was watching the conversation
with a trained eye, probably reading Hermione’s lips.

The library of a blood supremacist…

Or a reformed blood supremacist…

“Padma, I think I’ve just thought of a way I could make a breakthrough. Now, that bleed on my
brain—has it stopped completely? Will I need to be on bedrest?”

“I—well, it would be ideal, but knowing you, I know you won’t listen to my orders.”

“So, I’d need to be watched over by someone, to make sure I took it easy? Could I read?”

“If it’s in a reclined position and you only get up to use the bathroom. You need to be resting for at
least a week, and you’ll need to come back to be evaluated. I wouldn’t even recommend you for
release without the head injury while we tied you to the bed to find a cure for you, but if anyone
could find something, it would’ve been you. I’ll do research of my own on cursed blades and
poisons, ask my parents to send any reputable literature on the topic over from India. We’re from a
line of Pure-Bloods that have amassed quite a collection of a litany of topics; I’m sure I could
scrounge something up on this poison, unless it was personally crafted from Bellatrix herself.
Hermione, I have to ask…was it when she…you know…”

“Yes, Padma. It was when we were captured at the Manor.”

Padma didn’t miss the flick of Hermione’s eyes up to catch Malfoy’s—whose eyes were already
latched onto Hermione.
Padma didn’t miss much.

“Well, I’ll recommend you for release in the next twelve hours or so. The bleed has stopped, and
your fracture has been healed, you should just feel some soreness when the potions wear off, but
your biggest concern is your arm. I’ll release you into the custody of your…bodyguard, to ensure
that he looks over you. Are you sure you want to go back there, where it happened? I’m sure he’d
be willing to search any book for you in order to make sure you don’t die on his watch.”

Hermione blinked twice dumbly from the way Padma had so cavalierly spoken about Hermione’s
death.

It had all felt so trivial during the war—death.

It was all around them, like the stench of freshly tilled soil and rotting flowers.

“I’ll be able to handle it, if I can convince him to watch over me at the Manor, I’ll do my best to
never leave the sanctuary of the library.”

“That’s a lot of ‘if’s’ Hermione. I want you to come back in a week, and if you haven’t found
anything, and my parents haven’t turned anything up either, then I’m going to have to tell Harry
and give my opinion to admit you indefinitely until we can figure something out.”

“Six weeks.”

“Two weeks.”

“Five weeks, then, Padma. I’m not deteriorating—I haven’t lost quality of life. It’s only affecting
my blood, and it’s not working quickly. Please—give me time to figure this out.”

“You have four weeks, Hermione, and that’s as long as I’m willing to give you. And I want to see
you once a week, every week, no skipping visits, otherwise I’m going straight to Harry. And I’ll
make sure he knows how dire the situation is.”

“I understand Padma. Thank you for understanding that I need to do this.”

“Don’t make me regret it, Hermione. With everything going on, and the attack—I don’t know what
any of us would do if we lost you. When you get through this—and I know you will get through
this—I fully intend to make time to see you more, you and all of our classmates. Life is…too
fleeting.”

Tears pricked behind Hermione’s eyes. She hadn’t realized how much she missed the company of
her other friends.

“Yes, yes it is.”

Padma sniffed quickly to regain her professional atmosphere and nodded toward Malfoy in the
corner.

“Well, what do you say—should we put him out of his misery?”

Hermione cracked a slight smile.

“Oh, if we have to, I suppose it’s only fair.”

Padma cancelled the silencing charm and sound returned to Hermione’s ears from where they’d
been in a quiet little bubble, and Malfoy strode quickly forward with fire in his silver eyes.

“Well?”

“Mr. Malfoy—my recommendation as Hermione’s Healer—and friend—is that she be on bedrest

for at least seven days after being released later tonight. We’ll supply her with blood-replenishers,
Sleeping Draughts, pain potions, and a potion specifically formatted for the strengthening of bones,
to support the healing of her skull. She is allowed light activity, and may be permitted to read, so
long as she’s feeling no pain. It’s my recommendation that she not be alone for the entirety of her
bedrest, and I would also like to suggest her not staying at her own home, as I feel she needs
somewhere far more secure than her flat can provide. Face it, Hermione—I’ve only been to your
flat once, and even I know the security wards are lacking, and I’m not even an Auror.”

“Granger. The only place warded enough that I’d feel safe with you staying would be the Manor.
We have blood wards that you can be keyed into. We…changed the security, you could say, after
the war.”

“I don’t mind staying at the Manor.”

Malfoy flinched as if he’d been expecting a fight.

“What? Didn’t think I’d agree?”

“Not so easily, no.”

There was a suspicious gleam in his eyes that told Hermione he was onto her about her reasoning
for wanting to stay at the Manor.

“Right, well, now that that’s settled, I have a few more patients to see today. Hermione—remember.
Four weeks, once a week visits. Bedrest for the entirety of the first week. Understood?”

“Yes, Healer Padma.”

A satisfied smile flitted onto her friend’s face and she nodded once at each of them before quickly
striding out of Hermione’s private room.

She supposed being the Golden Girl had both its flaws as well as its perks.

It was silent for three beats before Hermione’s heart started thumping wildly in her chest.

Her eyes refused to meet Malfoy’s, his hands clenched tightly at his sides as he came around to the
right side of her bed close to the table where her flowers and notes of ‘get well soon’ were placed,
along with a few stuffed animals and chocolates.

The tension was stifling, a string pulled too taut, destined to snap with one carefully poised pull.

Malfoy tugged first.

“How long?”

“I’m sorry?”
 “Don’t be shy now, Granger. Answer the question. How long have you known about it? How long
has it been eating you alive?”

“What are you—”

Malfoy slammed his fist down on the table filled with flowers and get well soon cards that all
crashed to the ground with his fury.

“Do not lie to me, Hermione. You are dying. How long have you known? How long have you
known that you are going to die?”

Chapter End Notes

What did you guys think of this chapter? I can't wait to see what you all think of what I've got
coming up for this story!

Until next time my lovely readers,

Kristen :)

P.S. If you want previews for future chapters, follow me on TikTok @KTaylorBooks :)
 Chapter 16
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

June 22, 2005

Hermione had the good sense to look both shocked and subdued, muffling a silent spell to make
their conversation undetectable from anyone who might’ve been trying to eavesdrop, but through it
all, Malfoy seethed.

She didn’t speak for a moment, contemplating her options, until she realized that it would do no
good. He already knew the truth, so what was the point in concealing anything else any longer?

How had he found out?

Had he read her lips—or worse, threatened one of the Healers to tell him of her status? She was
sure Harry didn’t know, so Malfoy couldn’t have threatened him for the information.

She sucked in a deep breath that seemed to go nowhere before beginning to speak.

“I’ve known since I woke up after Apparating away from the Manor after we escaped. I didn’t tell
any of the others what I saw on that Diagnostic charm…it was slow, at first. Soon, it was all I could
do to find a cure, or I would’ve died before the final battle. It was what led me to earn my mastery
in Healing. That route didn’t work. Obviously.”

Malfoy’s silver eyes twitched in irritation as he leaned forward, pieces of his platinum hair falling
forward and catching in the charcoal of his long eyelashes.

“So, then, how did you end up in the DMLE, stealing the magic of Death Eaters?”

“It’s such a long story, but in short—it all has to do with the magic of the fairies of Merlin’s Craig
in the Scottish Highlands. I—quite literally—stumbled onto the ancient magic, and afterwards, the
information for the ritual, the spell-work, the enchantments, the wand movements, the chants—all
of it was siphoned from the earth and given to me much like what I do to the magic of Dark
Wizards. It slows the poison to a crawl, but it’s not a cure—only a pause. I’m still dying. I never
stopped. I still haven’t told a soul—until now. Until you, and now Padma and a team of Healers
know at St. Mungo’s knows about it. I’m just glad I was able to tell Padma not to tell Harry,
especially since he’s my medical proxy. But Malfoy—Draco…you can’t tell anyone.”

He snorted unkindly.

“And why’s that, Granger? You just crave being a martyr, suffering in silence, is that it?”

He leaned in closer, the light from the sunlight streaming through the windows refracting off the
cruel grey-blue of his eyes, squinted in accusation and anger.

“I can’t take anyone’s pity anymore. Everyone else has their own issues, anyway. It was better this
way—the Weasleys could grieve Fred, Harry could finally properly grieve Sirius, Remus and
Tonks, he could be there for Teddy, help Andromeda raise him. He could be normal, for once.
Everyone was fine. We were fine. We could take care of each other.”

“And who took care of you, Granger?”

Her breath got caught in a hole in her throat where her words wouldn’t come out.

The way he’d spoken the words was sarcastic, but the intent behind them had been sincere, hadn’t
it?

Or was she just looking for sympathy when she shouldn’t have been—looking for a morsel of
kindness when she knew he didn’t owe any to her.

“I—I suppose I did, for a time. It didn’t matter to me. I preferred being alone. I’m not very good at
showing others my weaknesses. Vulnerability feels like a disease.”

“That must be at least one thing Slytherins and Gryffindors have in common, then. Alright, I’m to
take you to the Manor then. We’ll have to keep that one to ourselves, unless you’re keen on having
the wonder twins breaking my door down demanding you stay with them instead? And you’re
aware that both of my parents are living there, yes?”

Malfoy took one hand off the wall above Hermione’s bed and scrubbed it down his face in
exasperation, and she allowed herself to make her gaze wash over him in the cool sense of a Healer.

He was thin, but unnaturally tall, which explained his stocky frame, but it didn’t make him look
weak. Instead, there was muscle built up around his broad shoulders, and she could tell by the cut
of his clothes that there was an impeccable body hidden beneath all that black fabric.

Hermione shook her head as he leaned closer still, eyebrows raised in question as she realized how
long she’d taken to respond to his question.

“Yes, I’m aware your parents are still at the Manor. We can just tell them Kingsley or Robards
wants to keep me at an undisclosed location because of how sensitive my work is, the fewer people
who know where I am, the better. I was actually wondering if there was a way I could stay in the
library? I’d like to…research. The poison came from Bellatrix, and if anyone is to have information
on the kinds of curses and poisons she dabbled in, it would be the Malfoy family library. I tried to
search Grimmauld Place, but the library there was cleaned out, presumably by Regulus Black
before he attempted to destroy one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes and denounced the blood supremacy
that comes with Pureblood culture.”

“Regulus Black did what? He—he went against The D—Voldemort?”

“Yes, Harry found out after we went searching for the Horcrux—it was a locket. Salazar Slytherin’s
locket, in fact. Did you not follow the trials? It’s all there.”

“No, I didn’t follow the trials, Granger. I was locked up for most of them, if you don’t recall. I was
the last one to go.”

“Oh. Right. I’m sorry—”

Malfoy snorted, running one hand through his platinum hair and piercing his eyes on Hermione’s.
She found she could not look away from their brilliance.
“Don’t bloody apologize, Granger. Not after you’re the one who got me out in the first place. Well,
you and Boy-Wonder—”

“I hope you’re not talking about me.”

Harry strode in with Ron at his heels, as well as Ginny and George, who all had relieved smiles on
their faces.

Until they laid eyes on Malfoy at her bedside, and Hermione suddenly realized just how close he’d
hovered over Hermione.

One hand was braced on the rail of her hospital bed, the other placed just above her on the
headboard. It was a seemingly intimate position, if one didn’t know the full details of the
conversation they’d been having.

Ron viewed the two with suspicion and barely veiled contempt.

“What’re you doing here, Malfoy? Not like a Death Eater’s going to get her while we’re all camped
out outside. Half the Auror department is waiting to hear on how she’s doing.”

“Shacklebolt’s orders, Weasley. Wouldn’t want to go against our boss, now would I?”

It was a much more civil conversation Hermione had ever seen Malfoy have with Ron, but she
could see the rage and barely restrained sneer on Malfoy’s face.

Ron’s cheeks had just bloomed with red color when Ginny rushed forward, knocked Malfoy aside
with a stray hand, and brushed some of Hermione’s hair away from her face with lithe fingers.

“Oh, sweet girl. I thought you were dying. I thought—I thought the worst, to be sure. I am so glad
you’re alright.”

She turned abruptly and stuck her hand out at Malfoy, who eyed it as if it were a trap meant to
cause him bodily harm.

“Thank you for saving her life, Malfoy.”

He shook her hand tentatively while the rest of the group looked on in uncomfortable silence.

Hermione had completely forgotten to thank Malfoy for saving her life, but Ginny clearly hadn’t.

“It was his bloody job, Gin. He’d have surely been sacked, then made into a monster in the press if
he hadn’t done everything he could to save Hermione.”

“Contrary to what goes on in that empty, ginger skull of yours, Weasley—those were not the only
reasons I saved Granger’s life.”

“Oh? And what other reason do you have to keep her alive, other than keeping your job and
covering your ass?”

Malfoy’s face twitched, his eyes squinting as his infamous sneer etched its way back onto his face
like it had gone away for a nice vacation and was welcomed home in all its hateful glory.

“I do not fail those under my protection Weasley. No matter how they came to be under it.”
The lethality of his words were underscored by the gravelly depth of his voice that shook Hermione
to her very core. She glanced up at Malfoy from the corner of her eye and found his gaze already
on hers, as if cataloguing her for future reference, something dangerous and fatal lurking beneath
his glare.

“Right, well. Now that there’s all this nice and lovely tension—Hermione, I’d like for you to open
this from us.”

George rushed forward and handed Hermione a blank looking, nondescript card that seemed safe
enough, but one could never be too careful when it came to the twins—

Hermione felt a flood of tears prick behind her eyes at the thought that it would never be the ‘twins’
again, only George, and she rushed to open the card in order to dampen the emotional upheaval at
that last thought and drew a blank when there was nothing on the card.

She looked to George, who had a thin, knowing smirk on his face.

“Just tap the edge of the card, like with the Marauder’s Map, and say, “George Weasley is the best
Weasley.”

Ginny rolled her eyes beside Hermione but did as he asked and tipped her wand on the paper before
speaking the designated words.

Soon enough, all six of their names appeared on the blank card, one by one.

Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley, and George
Weasley.

“It works with the names of every person in the room when you activate it, and when more people
enter, they’re placed on the card as well. Go on, look.”

Beside each of their names, written in their respective house colors, was a box of gold ink, and
inside it were shimmering words that seemed to shift and transplant themselves elsewhere, as if
they weren’t entirely sure what to say until they all scrambled to attention at once, and Hermione
had to stifle a giggle at the contents of what she was holding in her hands.

“George, how exactly did you come up with this?”

There was mischief back in his eyes, and Hermione would’ve gladly given whatever she had to in
order to keep it there instead of the somber silence that had been carved across his features the
moment the war ended.

“It’s like the Marauder’s Map, but the magic reacts with the tension in the room, and it gives you an
accurate reading. Well, as accurate as you can get considering. Hermione, I know you don’t believe
in it, but it does have to do with a touch of Divination, even some Arithmancy. We’re going to be
mass producing them, selling them as soon as we can work out a good investor. We’ve already got
tons of feedback from the local shops, and everyone’s loving them.”

Hermione bit her lip and smiled, looking back down at the touch of light her friend had brought her
while Ginny, Harry and Ron all crowded around to read the words, but Malfoy strode silently to the
door to keep watch there, as if knowing that she’d want privacy with her friends.
“Look, Ron—it says you’re going to be married by thirty, have twins, and be bald by thirty-five.
Sounds about right.”

“Oh, bollocks. Come on, Gin—yours says you’re going to land your dream job in two years! Oh,
and you’re going to have another child soon, too!”

“Merlin help us, I just had our second, how many more are you going to be putting in me love?”

Harry bit his lip and laughed at his wife’s exasperated expression.

George leaned in closer to get in on the action as well.

“Three kids is nothing compared to our lot, eh? Oi, and look at that—I’ve got none. Least I’ll still
get married. And Hermione—”

Hermione choked on a laugh when she saw her ‘results’.

The card seemed to act like a fortune teller, but Hermione could hardly believe what hers was
telling her.

“I’m sorry, George. I don’t think your new prototype is accurate. Four children? I mean, I always
knew I wanted a large family to make up for being an only child, but honestly. And getting married
so soon? I won’t be married in a year, that’s just…that seems unlikely. And having a child so soon
after getting married? And it says nothing of my career.”

“You never know, Hermione. The right bloke could be just around the corner—”

“Granger. Robards is here and wants to speak to you, make sure what we’re working on is secure,
get details on the…safe house where you’ll be staying.”

Malfoy’s reappearance shut down all lighthearted conversation, and Ginny tapped the card, saying
the same words as to activate the magic, and then they all turned to her.

Ron stepped forward and placed a hand awkwardly on her leg.

“I’m…I’m really glad you’re alright, Mione. Had us worried to death once the dust settled and we
had no idea where you’d gone. We’re…we’re alright, yeah? No—no hard feelings after that little
spat?”

Hermione rolled her eyes internally and decided that since she’d come so close to death and was
still skating on the brink of it that it would be best to put all stress out of the way, and that included
holding in her anger at the ginger twat in front of her.

“Yes, Ron. No hard feelings. It’s all water under the bridge.”

Malfoy eyed Ron like he was a threat under the length of his dark eyelashes but thankfully kept
quiet.

“Great, brilliant. Yeah, alright well, I know this is a ‘need-to-know’ project, and I’m only on the
reserve team, so I’ll just—”

“Yes, and we’ll go too, I just had to make sure you were alright!”
Hermione gave Ginny a genuine smile even if it pulled the sores in her emotions a bit too tight.

“Glad to see you’re going to be just fine, Hermione. Don’t know what my family would do without
you.”

Hermione winced at George’s words, but only Malfoy seemed to notice as he tensed beside her bed.

Once Ginny, George and Ron had left, Malfoy stepped away to call Robards back in and Harry
stared at her inquisitively.

“Are you sure you forgive Ron? I know I don’t have all the details, but—”

“I forgive him, Harry. We both knew what would happen the moment we broke up for good and
decided to let it lie—things weren’t going to be the same, and he and I both knew that. I’m sure
he’s got someone else on the side ready to go for him, and all I want is for him to be happy—that
was never going to happen with me.”

Not with a dying girlfriend on his arm, at least.

Hermione should’ve set him free long ago, but she couldn’t deal with the loneliness.

Now, the loneliness was her friend that swallowed up the night with blackened teeth and yawning
jaws that opened up to the abyss where night and terror met in a crossroads of pain.

Pain was Hermione’s only comfort in the space between breaths anymore.

“Well, I’m glad you’re both mature enough to get past this.”

“As am I, Harry.”

It was that moment that Robards ambled up with Malfoy in tow, his large, stocky frame such a
startling difference from Malfoy’s.

“Granger. Glad to see you’re in one piece. Malfoy here briefed me on what happened during the
attack, and how you were dosed with your tea. We’re all knee-deep in reports after the attack, but
his guess is that whoever spiked your tea was in on the attack, and we’re inclined to agree with
him. You’re not safe at the Ministry in this condition, and I’m aware that you’ll be taking four
weeks off—”

“I’m sorry sir, four weeks? My Healer cleared me to return after one.”

“I’m aware of what your Healer said, but this is a question of your security and the security of what
we’re doing with this project. Listen—only a select few know what you’ve been doing, and the
Death Eaters we’ve captured know about it. I don’t know how, but there’s been a leak. You need to
stay with Malfoy indefinitely. He’s told me he has a place that’s safe, and I’ve asked him not to tell
me—or anyone else on the team—where you’ll be. You’re both under strict orders to stay put.
We’ll owl back and forth, and if need be, you will both Apparate to a spot of my designation if we
find something urgent once your condition clears. You’re not to come back to the Ministry under
any circumstances until we discover the mole—do you understand, Granger?”

Her mind was whirling, buzzing with anxiety and terror.

She would be dead in four weeks if she wasn’t able to siphon magic again.
“Granger?”

The world was blackening around the edges. Her breathing was shallow, and her head began to
throb in time with the beating of her heart.

She panicked until the faces of Robards, Harry and Malfoy all became an indistinguishable blob.

She was on the verge of total black-out, preparing for the sweet release of unconsciousness—

Until a pale hand clasped her arm.

Until quicksilver eyes stared into hers with molten clarity.

Until he spoke to her, the timbre of his voice deep and full and so commanding it rattled her very
bones.

“Breathe, Granger.”

She sucked in a breath of air that was jagged with terror and the impending doom of her imminent
death.

“Good. Again.”

She released her air in a whoosh of tainted breath and pulled in another that smelled like Malfoy—
crisp, warm, and smoky.

Just like the faintest edges of her Amortentia in Sixth Year…

Hermione shook her head clear just as the Healers came in.

“Robards, is there anything more we need to discuss?”

Their boss glanced at Malfoy, whose hand was still on her arm, and shook his head.

“Not at this time. Potter, come with me.”

“I—uh, yes. Yes, sir.”

Harry glanced back at Malfoy just as the Healers descended upon Hermione and Padma came
close, casting a diagnostic spell on Hermione to determine where her stress was coming from.

“Take care of her, Malfoy.”

Malfoy scoffed, crossing his arms in front of his chest just as he sneered down at Harry as he was
preparing to leave with Robards.

Hermione could just barely make out what Malfoy said after the Calming Draught and then the
Dreamless Sleep potions were poured down her throat.

The edges of her vision were fuzzy, but she could hear just fine.

“She’s mine to protect, Potter. If you think I take that lightly, you’re as mad as that Weasley for
ever letting her go.”
 And then Hermione fell, blissfully, into a sleep with no nightmares to keep her company.

Chapter End Notes

I hope you're all enjoying Stealing Emeralds as much as I'm enjoying writing about it! It's
quite literally my passion project and I can't wait to have it finished for you all to read! :)

Until next time my lovely readers,

Kristen :)
 Chapter 17
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

RONALD WEASLEY AND HIS PUREBLOODED GIRLFRIEND WITH TIES TO THE

DARK WAYS: THE REAL REASON FOR HIS SPLIT WITH HERMIONE GRANGER
AND WHAT THIS MEANS FOR WIZARDING SOCIETY IN THE WAKE OF THE
ATTACK ON THE MINISTRY AS UNREST GROWS
By Rita Skeeter
23, June 2005
The Daily Prophet

Ronald Bilius Weasley has officially announced his courtship with Miss Daphne Greengrass. It is of
this hard-hitting journalist’s opinion that Miss Hermione Granger, the brains of the world-saving
trio that would have surely failed their cause of defeating one of the most nefarious dark wizards of
our time without her intervention, was wronged due to the nature of this ‘new’ relationship.

What does this say of our world, that one of our champions for good has now turned to a witch with
relative ties to the dark wizards he is now sworn to fight against as an Auror in the Department of
Magical Law Enforcement? Miss Greengrass, a neutral party in the war against good, was seen in
an intimate position with Mr. Weasley, as portrayed in the photo accompanying this article, and as
the Ministry scrambles to find the true reason for the attack on our government in the midst of a
seemingly peaceful post-war period, this new kind of social unrest speaks to the ways in which the
Wizarding World as a whole is turbulent and constantly changing.

Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley were a beacon of shimmering hope for the future, but this
wretched kind of betrayal has cut us all to the core as we attempt to cling to the familiar and
hopeful. Ronald Weasley has taken that hope and stomped on it in order to fulfill his own selfish
needs. The public now looks to our war heroine Hermione Granger, gravely injured in battle and
heroically saved by the redeemed Draco Malfoy, according to our newest eye-witness reports
(though they have yet to be corroborated by Ministry officials if Miss Granger was, indeed, Mr.
Malfoy’s asset that seemed to be the object of the attack on the Ministry in the first place). Draco
Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley and Daphne Greengrass have all declined to comment
on this continuing situaton.

As the public looks for an answer to our Golden Girl’s fate, we turn to Ronald Weasley for a
response to his callous behavior towards a witch that this entire world owes their thanks to, and
this journalist can only wish that, if she is reading this article now, Hermione Granger knows our
thoughts and well-wishes are with her in regards to a speedy and fruitful recovery, both from her
traumatic injuries and what can only be a devastatingly broken heart from what we all know to be
her first true love that has only betrayed her in the end.

This journalist can only ask the question—will our government break our hearts the very same way,
or will they discover the threat to our existence before yet another attack on our livelihood?

Chapter End Notes

Hello my lovely readers! I hope you're all enjoying the story and how it's coming along! We're
about to get to the meat and truly my favorite parts of this story!

Until next time my lovely readers,

Kristen :)
 Chapter 18
Chapter Notes

Please note that this is a double update, and if you haven't read the article chapter before this,
please do!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Draco detested the Manor.

He traipsed the length of the walk to the massive gates with apprehension swirling in his veins,
careful with Granger’s unconscious floating body beside him as he tentatively moved forward until
his blood wards allowed him in.

He’d keyed Granger into the wards in the five minutes he’d dared leave her unattended at St.
Mungo’s, but as Saint Potter had said—the entire DMLE was camped out in front of her room
watching over her, so he didn’t think five minutes would hurt.

Still, anxiety washed over him the longer he was away from her.

When one of the Patil twins released her into his custody with nothing short of suspicious curiosity
dancing on her features at the sight of him taking away the great Hermione Granger, Draco sneered
at her.

The witch only rolled her eyes and asked him to magically sign some forms to release Granger to
him with his wand.

Draco eyed the monstrosity of a ‘home’ in front of him, and was glad that he could take an
immediate right off the walkway and into the hidden pathway that would lead to his actual home on
the grounds.

Verdant grass swayed underfoot and the breeze of early summer stirred in him a longing to take off
on his broom and sway through the air like nothing but a piece of the wind around him and
wondered if Granger would be opposed to spending some time outdoors once she was no longer on
bedrest—being cooped up in the cottage wouldn’t be the worst thing, but it also wouldn’t be ideal.

He briefly wondered if Granger had as much of a green thumb as his mother when the weight of all
of his obligations suddenly poured over him and he stopped in his tracks in front of an old swing
hanging from a dilapidated branch from one of the oldest trees on the property.

“Pinky.”

The elf appeared moments after Draco summoned her, and her outfit that day consisted of a
brilliantly pigmented royal purple pillowcase she’d most likely bought with the wages Draco had
been filling her vaults with since he’d freed her the moment he returned home from Azkaban.
She’d refused to leave him, and insisted on remaining in his service, so the least he could do was
set up an account for her and force her to take time off when he could.

“Master Draco is home! Pinky is so glad to have—and Master Draco has brought home a witch!
Does Pinky have a new Mistress—”

“No, Pinky, you do not have a new Mistress, but I do have a guest that will be staying with me at
the Cottage while she recovers. She’s been through a traumatic ordeal at the Ministry and will need
medical care available around the clock. How are our potions reserves?”

Pinky’s eyes widened and she began jumping nervously on the spot.

“Oh, dear. Oh, yes, our potions reserves are replenished and full, Master Draco! I shall go at once
to ready her rooms, where would you like her to—”

“The room directly beside mine. I am watching over her, per my job.”

“Of course, Master Draco. Pinky will have everything ready, to be sure!”

The elf Apparated away with a pop and Draco continued on the path, hoping that his mother hadn’t
felt his arrival with a new, unknown entity entering the wards.

He knew he shouldn’t have been so hopeful as he meandered past the wildflower fields, over the
hill that housed the stables filled with Abraxans and then finally Draco came across the lake on the
grounds of the Manor that curved and opened up to the large, two-story cottage that Draco had
made his home in the years since the war.

He hadn’t Apparated directly to the cottage with Granger in such a precarious medical situation, but
even if he could have, he still would have preferred the walk. It quieted his mind, the walk to the
cottage—living so far away from the Manor that held far too many nightmares for him.

Of course, he still attended meals in the Manor itself with his parents, and his official study resided
in the Manor as well, but this was his sanctuary. His safe place.

Wisteria vines and Ivy climbed up the worn rocks and bricks that covered the home in which past
Malfoys had used to raise their children away from the sterile atmosphere of the Manor in. Past
Malfoys that hadn’t included his parents, for whatever reason.

Perhaps it was because his parents had only had one child, and the thought of the multiple
children’s rooms in the Cottage was too much to bear.

It was officially named the Aquarius Cottage, but Draco just shortened it to ‘The Cottage’ when
speaking about his home to his friends and family.

He’d only ever shared it with friends and family, and he’d never let an outsider in.

Glancing at Granger’s unconscious form, her hair falling in wild waves around her face as she laid
prone in the air, his chest clenched in anticipation and worry that she’d hate the place and demand a
bed in the library, but that was against the question.

She’d simply have to use the tunnels. Draco would connect them to the library in the coming days,
but for the time being, she could use the plentiful cottage library, and Draco could spend some time
making sure there weren’t any curses on the books she was itching to read.
Narcissa Malfoy was sitting on Draco’s swing on the front porch and he drew nearer, the sun
reflecting off the bright blue of the lake grew almost blinding, as was his mother’s smile that was
smoother than a Cheshire cat’s.

“Draco, what a lovely surprise. I do hate that this is the way you’re bringing a girl home to me, but
I can’t complain. I’m just so happy you’ve made your decision. Miss Granger is a lovely girl and
will make a wonderful addition to our family once all this mess with rogue wizards is cleaned up,
I’m sure of it. Now, how may I help in adjusting her? I’m sure she’s bound to be disoriented when
waking up, and I want her to feel completely welcome and at peace here, if this is to be her forever
home. Oh, I can’t wait to get to know her—in just the few short conversations we’ve had, she’s
shown such a sharp wit and even a dry sense of humor, oh and she’s just so poised and delicate, but
so passionate, and—”

“You know, mother, there is something you could do for her. She’s researching a specific type of
poison, one imbued onto a blade. The blade itself could be cursed as well. It was used on her by
Bellatrix. You know the one.”

No use waiting to get right down to it—if Granger was dying, they were going to need all the help
they could get when figuring out how to save her.

Draco had just opened the door to the cottage when his mother stood abruptly, all color washing
from her face.

“You don’t mean—when Bella—”

His mother nodded toward Granger’s arm as Draco winced and nodded, turning back to the witch
in question as he ambled up the stairs on the landing that would lead to her new room for the time
being. He would send Pinky to Granger’s flat later to collect her things.

He wished he could’ve said to fuck with it and kept her in his room, in his bed to watch over her,
but he knew the moment she woke up that he would face his wrath for that one.

“Yes. I’d like it if you kept this between us, but the wound is still bothering her to this day. It is of
the utmost importance that we figure out the antidote or cure to the poison or the counter curse to
the blade. I’m not sure how much time we’ve got left.”

Better to keep his mother focused on that as well instead of her insistence that Granger was the one
he’d actually chosen as the witch he wanted to marry. Maybe he could keep ignoring her and
pretending to go along with her that she’d be appeased, and he’d just tell Granger to go along with
it to keep her off his back.

Draco opened the door to the room Pinky had already made up for Granger and withdrew his wand
to settle the woman in question between the sheets, watching with rapture as she muttered in her
sleep, stretched slightly, turned her head into the fluffy pillows and then promptly loosed a sigh
mixed with a moan that sent all kinds of images into Draco’s head that he shouldn’t have been
thinking of in front of his mother.

“Draco—is she dying? From this wound?”

Draco glanced back at his mother’s pale face, then brought his eyes back to Granger’s.
She looked so innocent there, lying in his guest bedroom, completely unaware of the conversation
happening before her.

Her olive skin was marred by the injury to her head that hadn’t fully healed, but the superficial cuts
were gone, and her full pink lips were moistened as her tongue darted out to part them. Her brown
eyes fluttered until shutting again completely, but there was a squeeze in Draco’s chest all the same.

He’d stared into those very same eyes on these grounds, invaded her mind, and tried to take as
much of her pain as was physically possible.

He’d taken her to another place, danced with her across her memories and placed her in a meadow
with her parents on a picnic blanket while they laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

He never remembered laughing with his own parents like that. He wondered how he’d feel if he
erased them, the same way Granger had erased herself from her parents.

All that joy, all that happiness—all that damned laughter—just gone.

“Yes, mother. She is.”

His mother came up beside him to glance down at the woman lying in the bed, reaching down to
brush a stray toffee colored curl from her eyes.

“We’re not going to let that happen.”

Draco was in no position to question his mother.

***

When Granger finally opened her eyes, it was Pinky that alerted Draco to the news, and he jumped
up from his spot on his favorite lounging chair in the sitting room in order to greet her when she
awoke to make sure she understood just exactly where she was.

Abandoning his pile of books on the subject of cursed blades, he took the stairs two at a time, only
to come to a complete stop in front of her door and brush his crisp shirt down and affix his hair
before knocking soundly.

“Come in.”

Her voice was raspy and sleep-tinted, but he pushed the door open to find Granger standing up and
running frazzled hands through her hair.

“Granger. You do know what ‘bedrest’ means, don’t you?”

“Of course I know what it means, Malfoy! I just—I—I don’t understand. I wake up in a room that’s
definitely not in the Manor, there’s a house elf—and the first thing she tells me is that she is a free
elf, thank you very much, and that ‘Master Draco’ is a kind master who pays her a more than fair
wage and makes her take time off—and then—”
“Granger.”

She froze.

He had used the same exact tone with her at St. Mungo’s to pull her out of her panic attack, but he
wasn’t sure it would still work on her elsewhere.

“I will explain everything, but please, lie down. I don’t feel like having to drag you back to the
Manor unconscious.”

“Wait. Is that how I got here? Did you Apparate us?”

“I had to Apparate us to the Manor’s front gates to ensure the blood wards I’d altered to let you in
actually worked. I didn’t want to risk us Floo’ing in and you ending up not being able to come
through.”

“Okay, so where are we? We’re clearly not in the Manor.”

“No, Granger. We’re not in the Manor. This is my home, on the Manor’s grounds. The Aquarius
Cottage.”

Her brown eyes went wide for a moment before Draco gestured to the bed and she slid in hesitantly
under the blankets while he stepped forward to pull them tight over her.

“First things first—I’m already working on the books I know you’re so desperate to get started on.
Once I ensure no past Malfoys had qualms about Muggleborns reading them, you’ll have access to
them. Before you ask, I’m not giving you access to the library until I can get the tunnel connecting
this cottage to the Manor set up to take you straight there with a short walk, which someone will
have to carry you through while you’re on bedrest. I am taking your health more than serious, so
please, I don’t need any lectures on your stay. Is there anything else?”

Granger glanced at him inquisitively, a question in her large doe eyes forcing a question to the
forefront of her features, but she schooled her expression just before something could come
bouncing off her pink tongue.

Instead, she leaned back and placed a suspicious look on her face.

“When did your views on Muggleborns and House Elves change, exactly?”

Draco went rigid, the memories of those early days in which he questioned the Pureblood
supremacy his father and mother had used to espouse washing over him like the sprinkling rain
from the start of a summer storm.

“Are we really going to do this now, Granger? You just woke up with a head injury, and now you
want to talk to me about my past blood prejudices? All you need to know is that I used to think that
way, and I don’t anymore. Does that satisfy you?”

“No, it most certainly does not satisfy me, Malfoy, though I suspect it’s all I will be able to get out
of you so I suppose I should be happy. Now, when can I start reading?”

Draco rolled his eyes at her swottiness, but said nothing to the contrary until she began to
absentmindedly rub the edge of her temple.
He leaned towards her instinctively, calling for Pinky and turned to the elf as soon as she made her
appearance.

“Pinky, please get Miss Granger a potion for her pain, and bring the salve I was working on
earlier, please.”

“Of course, Master Draco.”

Once she was gone, Granger painted him with a scowl angry enough to rival even is most favorite
sneer.

“She calls you ‘Master’?”

“Careful, Granger. I might start to like that name for me out of your mouth a bit too much and
forbid you to call me anything else while you’re here.”

“You disgust me.”

“And you delight me with your wonderfully joyful presence.”

Her next retort was cut off as Pinky reappeared with the things he’d requested and stood nervously
as Hermione downed the first pain potion, then turned to the salve in the small elf’s hands.

“And what’s that?”

“It’s a salve I’ve been concocting since we arrived and you’ve been asleep. I was looking into anti-
inflammatory ingredients that could help to counteract the effects of the poison from the dagger, if
what’s killing you is actually poison and not a curse imbued upon the blade.”

“I am ninety-nine percent sure it’s a poison—everything I’ve read about cursed blades negates my
experience thus far. It’s most definitely a poison—and I’ve tried everything, Malfoy. I doubt this will
help.”

Draco withdrew an unkind response at her words once he saw the pinched expression on her face.

He remembered her earlier words, ‘vulnerability is a disease’.

“No harm in trying, Granger. Lift up your arm, please.”

She did as he bade, and the sight of her uncovered arm, grotesquely bloody, raw and inflamed with
blue-purple-black veins running the length of it until they disappeared underneath the hem of her
hospital gown was almost enough to make Draco turn on his heel to march downstairs and Avada
himself.

His guilt was almost too overwhelming, and he had to force the shame of it out of his mind until it
was time to drown his sorrows in—no. No, he reminded himself. There would be no drowning of
any sorrows in Firewhiskey ever again, lest he break his so carefully curated sobriety since his last
outburst with that one Greengrass sister.

Hermione Granger was in his guest room, under his protection, and he would be damned if he
failed her—again.
This time, he would do what his seventeen-year-old self had failed to do. This time, he would save
her.

And as he stepped forward with the salve tin in his hands and placed the herbal concoction onto
her arm, he saw the recognition of that determination reflected back to him in her eyes.

She watched him in scrutinizing silence, something like curiosity and skepticism in her gaze.

“Why did you take this job, Malfoy?”

“What do you mean? I’ve been working for the Ministry as an informant for years, and—”

“No, I mean, why did you take the job of protecting me? Surely, you were loathe to even be in the
same room as swotty, bushy-haired, buck-toothed, Muggleborn Gryffindor Hermione Granger.”

Draco finished placing the salve on her arm, his fingers drifting just a bit and watched as chills
pebbled her skin while the herbs sunk into her red and angry wound, soothing it just the smallest
bit, and she gasped as the tingling and numbing sensation must’ve been taking effect.

He wondered if that was why his entire arm was tingling, as well.

He glanced up at her eyes and forced himself to hold steady.

“You’re not buck-toothed anymore, Granger.”

She was opening her mouth to answer when his owl, Cygnus, swooped in through Granger’s open
window and dropped two items on Granger’s bedside table.

One was the evening edition of the Daily Prophet, and the other was clearly a missive from the
Ministry.

Draco reached for the letter first while Granger grabbed the paper.

A short and sweet notice inviting Draco to write back to both Robards and Shacklebolt about
Granger’s condition was inside the envelope, as well as an urgent push to take her immediately
back to St. Mungo’s should any complications arise, as if they didn’t already know that he had the
best Healers possible with the amount of money in his vaults.

A small gasp came from Granger in front of him and he folded his missive and placed it in his back
pocket before taking in the sudden pale pallor of her skin while she stared dejectedly at the paper in
front of her.

“What—”

“I need paper and something to write with. As soon as possible. Please.”

Draco leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the paper and blanched slightly as the sight of the
Weasel and Daphne Greengrass getting caught by Prophet photographers was splashed all across
the front page, their hair askew, clothes half-ripped off, and hands still clutching certain
inappropriate places as the photo moved with their attempts to cover themselves in an alcove off
what Draco was sure was the mid-way point between Diagon and Knockturn Alley. Skeeter was
comparing their relationship to the recent attack on the Ministry.
 “Malfoy.”

Draco glanced back up and found Granger’s eyes swimming with barely restrained pain and anger,
and nodded once.

“Something to write with, yes. Coming right up.”

He was glad he wasn’t going to be the one on the other end of that letter.

Chapter End Notes

What did you all think of this chapter? I'm dying for feedback--your comments can actually
help me with this story in real time so any feedback would be much appreciated, especially
since I have no beta-reader and I'm just posting as I write! What do you think will happen next
in the story? What do you want to happen next?

Until next time my lovely readers,

Kristen :)
 Chapter 19
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

June 23, 2005

Dear Harry,

I am fine and in an undisclosed location with a surly Auror as my protection detail who hovers
more than a mother-bird, which is possibly the most surprising aspect of this little arrangement
Kingsley has cooked up in order to keep me safe—that Draco Malfoy is capable of doing a fine job
at protecting someone like me. As for other aspects of my emotional wellbeing, one could only
imagine my surprise upon opening the Daily Prophet this morning to discover someone had leaked
the fact that Malfoy was my assigned Auror during the attack on the Ministry.

This comes on the heels of the Prophet publicly questioning my whereabouts and my safety, and this
is now becoming a security concern. We need to mitigate things. So, I need you to send in your
statement to the Prophet to read as follows:

“I have been at Hermione’s side all throughout this ordeal, and while we were worried for a
moment, her condition is now stable and she’s going to take a few weeks to recover, but she’s in the
clear and is focusing on healing and getting better before returning to work. She’s spending all her
energy on getting well so that she can help the Ministry move forward with finding and prosecuting
those responsible for this reprehensible act against our government to the fullest extent of the law.
Hermione is dedicated to this endeavor and, while we might not be seeing her out in public for a
while, you can be certain she is not done fighting this fight.”

Please send this in to the Prophet as soon as possible, and hopefully soon this nightmare will all be
behind us and we can go back to everything being normal again.

How are you? How are the kids and Ginny? I barely got to speak with you at St. Mungo’s before I
was carted off whilst unconscious. Please write back soon.

All my love,
Hermione

Dear Mione,

I am so sorry. Please, you have to know how truly sorry I am. I had no idea that the Prophet would
take such intimate pictures of me and Daph…so, yeah, me and Daphne. We’re…well, I’m sure you
could tell, but we’re together. I’m really sorry you had to find out this way, but you always seemed
so uninterested in me after our breakups, and you seemed so sure that this one was for good, so…
yeah.
How are you doing by the way? I miss you. I heard you’re at an ‘undisclosed location’ and not
even Harry is allowed to know where you’re at. Thats…that’s bloody infuriating is what it is,
especially since you’re with bloody Malfoy, of all people. I could’ve kept you safe, Mione. Me and
Harry! I tried to get Kingsley to change Robards’ mind about him being your assigned Auror,
considering everything that’s gone down in the past between all of us, but he wasn’t having it,
though I don’t know why. Its well and truly barmy, is what it is.

You’ll let me know if he hurts you, won’t he? You’ll tell me if he says anything to you that you don’t
feel comfortable with? You’ll be sure to tell me, I know you will. We’re still so busy rebuilding here
at the Ministry. Apparently that explosion was caused by a Dark Artifact or something of the sort,
and the Department of Mysteries is experimenting and testing the thing down there where they do…
everything they do down there. The Unspeakables scare me, if I’m being honest.

Anyway, sorry for rambling, I’m just sorry about that bloody article and I wanted to make sure you
heard from me first before anything else happened or was reported on or…yeah. So. I’m with
Daphne Greengrass, and she’s nothing like what the papers are saying—her parents weren’t even
involved in the war! They kept out of it! She was just…misunderstood. And maybe if you can tell the
Prophet that, they’ll listen to you, yeah?

Look, I’ve got to run but I just wanted to let you know that you and Harry will always be my best
friends and nothing is going to change that!

Love you Mione,

Ron

Dear Miss Hermione Granger,

I am aware it’s been a long while since our last correspondence during your term at Hogwarts, but
every chance I’ve tried to get you alone afterwards at various events and balls, you’ve always
found a way to escape me.

I wanted to let you know that I hold no ill feelings toward you from our last…encounter, and would
like to give you the chance to tell your side of the story before more aspects of this relationship
between Ronald Weasley and Daphne Greengrass come to light. You see—I have evidence of
Ronald Weasley having an affair with Miss Daphne Greengrass while the two of you were still
involved. Photos taken just days after your attendance at a charity ball together supporting the
mental health initiative after the war.

Before I print this in the paper, I wanted to give you a chance to tell your side, to maybe give some
insight into your relationship at the time. I’d hate for the public to see you as a woman pathetically
scorned and holding onto a relationship she never knew was on the rocks to begin with. These
photos go back months—almost a year, to be more direct.

I do hope you’re doing well, and would love an update on your condition if you would be so
inclined.

Kind regards,
Rita Skeeter
Editor-in-Chief, Daily Prophet
***

Hermione read letter after letter as they appeared in her lap while Malfoy made himself scarce after
she began vigorously penning her letter to Harry.

She suddenly wished she could take the letter back from the owl that she’d already sent off toward
Harry; to revise it with a vicious and vindictive tone—for him to tell the whole world what
Hermione really felt about Ronald Weasley—but she refrained.

She wasn’t going to necessarily take Rita Skeeter of all people at her word, but since the incident
where Hermione had shown Skeeter just how well she could follow through with her threats, she
was more inclined to believe her over the words of her ex-boyfriend.

Lying in the plush bed of Draco Malfoy’s guest bedroom after downing a Calming Draught and
eating a delicious helping of pumpkin soup delivered by the most well-treated House Elf she’d ever
met, Hermione was starting to think that her perception of things was not actually what was the
truth.

She’d always pictured a Malfoy elf to be mistreated, like Dobby, but Malfoy had treated Pinky with
kindness and respect, and the elf had treated Malfoy with a type of reverence she hadn’t expected
from a servant.

There were lots of things about Malfoy that she didn’t expect—like the serenity provided to her in
the walls of the cottage that she was staying in—and the fact that this was his home outside of the
Manor.

She’d assumed he would’ve resided in a sterile, black and white room with floor-to-ceiling pillars
of skulls decorated with leather and Slytherin green. Alright, maybe the skulls was a bit of an over-
dramatization, but it didn’t change the fact that this was the farthest thing from what she expected
when it came to Draco Malfoy, heir to the entire Malfoy fortune and the Black family inheritance
that couldn’t go to Harry since he wasn’t Sirius’ biological son, and there were some traditions that
had to be followed when it came to money, according to the goblins at Gringott’s.

Hermione considered writing back to Rita Skeeter, but then thought better of it and kept her silence.
Her statement filtered through Harry would be more than sufficient to placate the public, she
hoped, and would keep her silence about the Ronald Weasley of it all.

She would not respond to his letter, either. There was no point—whether Skeeter was right or not,
her and Ron’s relationship was dead in the water long before a year ago, if that was truly when he’d
started ‘cheating’ on her. Daphne Greengrass was of no consequence to Hermione, and—if she was
honest with herself—neither was Ron Weasley.

She’d just begun to try and stand when Pinky appeared, dressed up in a bright fuchsia pillowcase
and staring at Hermione wide-eyed with nervousness dancing behind her large, rounded eyes.

“Mistress should not be trying to stand by herself. Pinky will go get Master—”
“No, Pinky that is alright. I can make it to the bathroom by myself. It would be quite embarrassing
to get him for something so trivial.”

“If Mistress thinks all is fine, then Pinky will stay to make sure Mistress makes it to the
bathrooms.”

Pinky followed through with her words as she followed Hermione to the bathroom connected to her
room and as she finished doing her business, brushed her teeth and smoothed down the lion’s mane
she called hair.

“Does Mistress care for a bath?”

Hermione glanced longingly at the white claw-foot tub in the center of the ensuite bathroom that
was decorated in bright whites and taupes that elicited a peaceful sensation whenever Hermione
looked upon the wicker accents and sleek tile.

“A bath sounds lovely, Pinky, although I’m not sure I’d be able to bathe myself properly with my
head wound.”

And the poison that was scalding to the touch as it grew more and more inflamed with each passing
moment that Hermione was unable to siphon the magic of another dark wizard.

“Pinky will help, Mistress. Please.”

The elf looked so hopeful, so sorrowful at Hermione’s own pain, that she sighed and relented,
gasping out in pleasure when she finally stripped down and sank into the beautifully heated water.

Pinky poured potion after potion on her hair, careful of the wound that wasn’t healing well, and
soothed the knots in her curls until they were lush and silky smooth.

Hermione felt tears prick her eyes as she sat on the stool in front of the vanity in the bathroom after
toweling off while Pinky brushed and braided her hair, the rush of emotions caused by the
memories of the last time her mother had done something so similar that it caused the breath in her
lungs to hitch and die away for a few moments before she could breathe back in.

“Thank you, Pinky. This means a lot to me.”

“Pinky is glad to help Mistress Hermione, after all she has done to try and help us. We all talk and
tell stories of the great Hermione Granger. Pinky is honored that Master has such exquisite taste in
witches.”

Hermione was just about to say something to the contrary when Pinky tied off her braid at the
bottom of Hermione’s back and suddenly spoke up once more.

“Pinky has forgotten the lavender oils to help with stress. Pinky will be back!”

Hermione smiled and shook her head at the elf’s antics and walked slowly back to her bed, wishing
upon anything that there would be more pain potions and Calming Draught when she returned to
her room.

Instead, she found Draco Malfoy sitting on her bed with two large tomes that looked as if they’d
never seen the light of day as the spines were in pristine condition.
So, too, was the man. Sitting on her bed.

Technically, it was his bed.

He was turned away from her, reading a passage in one of the books, so Hermione took the time to
look at him—really study him.

The profile of his aquiline nose was straight and even, sharp enough to cut diamonds. His teeth had
captured a bit of his lower lip and Hermione studied his mouth like it held the answers to an
essential piece of information she would be quizzed on at a later date.

His skin, while still pale, wasn’t sickly like it had been in Sixth Year. It was glowing, like the gleam
of the bright face of the moon at night.

His stature was so large it almost took up the entire room, and Hermione had never felt as small as
she did in that moment, with his presence so overwhelming and strong.

He finally took that moment to glance up at her and she could’ve sworn his grey eyes were
suddenly a shade darker, the color of charcoal after it had been smudged on a white canvas.

“Granger. Pinky told me you were up and about. How are you feeling?”

He stood, taking both of the books with him and Hermione’s interest piqued even further.

His voice was rough like glass scraping across gravel, like he’d been up all night and was only just
using it for the first time in days, though his face showed no sign of any such fatigue. Hermione
vaguely wondered what state she must’ve looked to him, then wondered why she was thinking
about how she looked to him in the first place.

Surely, she was going mad.

That, or it was the head injury.

She was going to go with the head injury.

“Malfoy. I’m feeling better, though I am in a bit of pain, but that’s to be expected. I’m used to the
pain.”

Pain, she could handle.

Pain was familiar and almost a comfort.

It meant she was still alive.

“My mother found these and I checked them for curses. They’re the best all-encompassing texts
about cursed blades and poison imbued into a blade. I’ve been busy strengthening the wards around
the outermost barriers of the Manor’s grounds, as well as the exterior of the cottage, adding your
blood to the wards. Hope you don’t mind—I took a sample from St. Mungo’s while you were
sleeping in order to perform the spells, but your immediate danger right now are the rogue Death
Eaters, and the poison second.”

“Wait. You told your mother about the poison?”

“Granger. You’re dying. This is no time to try and protect your pride. If my mother can help and
give insight into Bellatrix’s days with my mother at Hogwarts and any possible time she could’ve
developed whatever is killing you, then I’m taking advantage of that resource while we have it.
And, just so you’re aware, she wants to help you. So, you could at least pretend to be grateful and
say thank you.”

“Thank you? You don’t look like Narcissa Malfoy to me.”

“Fine, shall I call her for tea for you then? You definitely look the part of a well-rested, healthy
hostess.”

He didn’t have to add the inflection in his voice for her to recognize the sarcasm. It seemed to be
his second language at this point.

They were both standing a bit too close, the scent of the jasmine petals Pinky had filtered into the
water drifting between them like sand between fingertips.

His minty breath brushed over her face, tripping over her lips and dancing over her eyelashes as she
had turned her neck upwards to stare into his storm cloud eyes.

“Forgive me for not looking my best while dying.”

“All the more reason to accept help when you fucking need it, Granger! You’re the most stubborn
witch I have ever met. Were you even going to tell me, if I hadn’t figured it out myself?”

Hermione stayed quiet while the rage simmered in Malfoy’s veins, watching as it bubbled beneath
the surface and manifested itself in the twitch of his eye, the flick of his fingers as he unfurled them
slowly, the veins throbbing up his uncovered arms up to the rolled sleeves of his white button-
down.

“You weren’t, were you? You were going to try and research in my library until you either wasted
away or found a cure? Do you know what would’ve happened to me if you died under my care?
Not only would I be fired, but I could be sent to Azkaban! Do you know what would happen to my
mother, caring for an ailing husband and grieving a son in a prison she can never visit because she
is legally only allowed to go back there unless she’s sentenced to it? I don’t think you know just
how much you do affects other people!”

“I know plenty well what I do affects other people, Malfoy! The moment I stop fighting—the very
second I decide to give up, that’s the end for me. Everyone always expects Hermione Granger to
have it together, well I’m tired of always having the right answer and doing the right thing!
Sometimes I just want to look at someone who sneers at me on the street corner and drag him back
to my home and show him that I have the power to take his very life force from him, and there’s
nothing he could do about it. I could turn a Pureblood into a Muggle with just a few chants, and
you know what? It’s never made me feel more powerless—because it’s the only thing keeping me
fucking alive! So yes, Malfoy, I understand that actions have consequences. Forgive me for not
consulting you in my consciousness before making my decisions, because I can guarantee that
you’re not in the top one hundred people I’d ever consider before making a decision!”

Hermione felt her back hit a wall but refused to give up the eye-contact with Malfoy, her chest
constricting as black dots swam in her vision.
Her arm burned like fire was licking flames upwards toward her heart and she sucked in a
wheezing breath that seemed to go nowhere.

She swayed, her vision blurring slightly before her head smacked into a very solid chest and she
hummed out in pain as two large arms encircled her waist and picked her up, holding her securely
against a rigid frame that smelled warm and smoky and expensive, like fancy cologne she’d only
ever scented on tester strips in a high-end French store.

“I suppose we can add ‘heated arguments’ to the list of things you’re not to partake in while on
bedrest, Granger.”

Malfoy’s voice rumbled through his chest and vibrated her entire body, the depth of it warm and
almost comforting as she begged for some kind of relief for this pain.

“It hurts.”

Her voice came out as a whimper as he laid her on her side on the soft plush of the bed.

“I know, I know. Here, take this.”

She squirmed away from the foul-smelling potion he’d placed in front of her, but his hand was firm
on the back of her head and after the first sip, she was able to stomach getting the rest of it down.

“That’s it, good girl. Take it, all of it.”

Hermione shivered as the potion flooded her system, warming her up from the inside out as it
seemed to dance and fizzle in her veins.

“What—what was that?”

“A personal favorite that I brew specifically for the after-effects of torture. It has a pain relief
component, as well as an element that shuts down the pain receptors in the brain by activating the
pleasure center. You take it with Calming Draught or Dreamless Sleep and it aids in the healing
process. Now, take this.”

She recognized the taste of Dreamless Sleep, and while she wasn’t ready to finish their argument,
the call of sleep was too much to ignore.

A stray curl was brushed away from her scalp as Malfoy finally pulled the potion from her lips and
pulled the blankets back up over her shoulders. She vaguely remembered needing to finish yelling
at him, but was too content and sleepy to remember what she was going to say to him next.

Her hand closed over his wrist just as he began pulling away, though she wasn’t sure why she’d
done it.

He didn’t remove his hand from her cheek as she tumbled down a dark abyss of peaceful, and
dreamless, sleep.

***
 In the deep, dusty stacks of the Malfoy Manor library, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy stared at each
other in open-mouthed shock.

“Why would your sister create such a poison, with no other cure aside from this?”

“I assume she thought if it ever affected her or her husband, she wouldn’t need a cure because of
her connection with him, and because of their blood status.”

“You realize what this means, though, don’t you?”

“Of course I realize what it means, Lucius, but what do you expect me to do? Keep something like
this from him? You’ve seen him—how single-minded he’s been about curing her. It would be
worrying if it weren’t so admirable.”

“Well of course you shouldn’t keep something like this from him, Narcissa. No, you must use this
to our advantage, to save our family. You know I won’t be around much longer.”

Narcissa stood with the book in her hands and strode for her husband.

“Oh, my love. Don’t say things like that—we can save our family and you, you know?”

Her husband sighed.

“No, no we cannot, but I’d rather there be redemption for my son and my wife than a longer life for
myself, suffering through these mental breaks. Come now, when does it say we have to begin the
rituals for the ceremony?”

“As soon as possible. The Malfoy family magic is strong, but we don’t know how much longer the
girl has left. She needs to be strong enough for her magic to bind with ours.”

“So, tomorrow then, we start? What’s the first task?”

Narcissa glanced back at the text.

“The exchanging of gifts between the receiving party and the giving party. We need to exchange
gifts with Miss Granger.”

“Well, then. Isn’t it lovely that she’s already staying at the Manor? How soon did Draco say until
the tunnels connecting his home to the library were ready?”

“They’re ready now.”

“Wonderful. I can’t wait to meet with my future daughter-in-law tomorrow. What ever should we
get her?”

Narcissa smiled at the playful smirk on her husband’s face that she so rarely ever saw.

“Yes, my love. What indeed?”

Chapter End Notes

This story seems like it's taking so long yet also feels like it's flying by at the same time--I
can't believe I'm almost at 50 thousand words! And 10 thousand hits? What?? I just wanted to
write my own little fanfic to incorporate each and every trope I've been obsessed with since
starting Dramione fanfic over a year ago, and now people are actually reading this! Thank you
so much for the Kudos, comments and hits, its so much fun watching this hobby of mine get
recognition!

Until next time my lovely readers,

Kristen :)
 Chapter 20
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

June 24, 2005

Granger slept like the dead for the rest of the day and all throughout the night.

Draco wasn’t sure what had come over him after their argument. He’d been so angry with her for
her uncaring, ungrateful attitude, and yet when she’d collapsed against him, a switch had flipped in
him, immediately changing his needs in the span of a few moments.

He no longer needed to put Granger in her place and make her see reason and the flaws in her logic.

He no longer needed for her to understand what could have happened if she kept the truth of her
condition a secret from him.

No, instead, he needed to care for her.

The need was so overwhelming that he’d actually touched her in a way he never would have dared
to before. It was far more than something born from the need to care for her health, but also for her
emotional wellbeing as well.

She didn’t need to be emotionally well to be alive, which was his end goal. So why was he so
insistent upon making sure each and every piece of her was whole, including the pieces of her that
hated him to her very core?

Was it because watching the great Hermione Granger suffer brought him back to a time when he’d
stood still and done nothing while she writhed on the ground in front of him on the floor of the
drawing room in a Manor as cold as death itself?

Sure, he’d tried to alleviate her pain, but it wasn’t enough. She still suffered.

She was still dying because he’d done nothing. Nothing. And it was his responsibility, as well as
his family’s—to make sure that she was healed, completely and fully.

It wasn’t until the night dawned that he finally tore his gaze away from her sleeping form and
decided to be productive while she rested and made a quick Floo call to his best friend.

Theodore Nott’s floating head appeared in the fireplace of his bedroom and Draco smirked at his
friend’s squinting, tired eyes.

“Give a man a warning before waking him up like that, yeah? Is everything alright?”

“Sorry, I needed some information. The prisoners that are set to be executed…were there any there
were released or sent to Azkaban instead?”
“Uh, no none of them were released, but a few were sent to Azkaban instead of being set for
execution. But—”

“I can’t leave right now, and I can’t have visitors either as my Floo is locked to everyone, but I’m
going to need those names of the prisoner set for Azkaban and execution as well, if possible. And a
favor.”

“Sure, Draco. What’s another favor? Not ‘hey, Theo, how’s it going with that bloke you were trying
to screw in the Department of Mysteries?’ Not even going to tell me about how you’re all over the
Prophet every other day, and what the bloody hell Granger and Potter and Weasley have to do with
it.”

“Fine. Theo, how’s it going with that bloke—”

“Well, see now that just defeats the purpose.”

“No, no. I want to know. Truly.”

Theo’s eyebrows raised incrementally before he shrugged and dug his heels in to tell the story.

“So, this bloke is an Unspeakable, right? Well, I’ve been after him for ages, and finally he agreed to
go out with me last week and then BAM! Death Eaters attack the Ministry and—wouldn’t you
know my luck? He gets injured. Badly enough he was in St. Mungo’s for two nights. Two! And we
missed our date, it was last night. I mean, honestly, as if these bloody Death Eaters haven’t ruined
enough of our lives, now they’re cock-blocking me too? Are you listening?”

“Of course I’m listening, Theo. Why don’t you just talk to him when he gets back to work?”

“I was going to, obviously. I’m just worried he might have a bad taste in his mouth after
everything, you know. Considering who…who my father is.”

“Oh.”

“Right. Oh.”

“Well, if he can’t differentiate between you and the person you came from biologically, then he
wasn’t for you to begin with.”

Theo flashed a bright smile at Draco who only rolled his eyes in return.

“Thank you, Draco. I believe this fulfills your small-talk friend advice portion of the evening, and
yes, I’ll get you those names, though I’m not sure what you think you’re going to do with them.
They’re all under lock and key.”

“Let me worry about that.”

There was a dark plan simmering beneath the surface of Draco’s thoughts, and if Granger needed to
siphon magic in order to survive, he was going to find her a few unwilling participants to do it.

She was not dying on his watch, not when there were so many things that he could do in order to
prevent it.
***

Harry Potter stared at the face of his best friend for over half of his life and wondered where the
hell everything had gone wrong.

“It’s not like I set out to hurt her, Harry! Our relationship was failing, and we both knew it. There
was no use holding onto it, and Daph was…she was right there, mate! I—imagine if it was Ginny
and she was right there—”

“Don’t you dare bring Ginny into this! You were a coward, Ron! You cheated on Hermione for
months and you’re still trying to make it seem as if it’s not your fault!”

Ron’s face fell and he staggered forward, leaning his weight on the back of the sofa in the parlor of
12 Grimmauld Place, facing down Harry as if they were going to battle together.

“I’m sorry, you’re right. I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, and if I could take it back, I would do it
properly. Tell Hermione I had feelings for someone else, anything other than the way I handled it,
but I was just so worried about what everyone would say when the breakup went public—I didn’t
want to be the one at fault. I wanted her to leave me, I really did. So, I guess that was me doing
everything I could to get her to leave.”

“Who gives a bloody fuck what people think? Every other day, the Prophet reports that Ginny’s
pregnant with triplets—what’s the point in caring when no one else cares about the truth?”

Ron grabbed at his hair and pulled the strands until his face turned as red as his hair.

“You know Lavender has it out for me ever since she thinks I left her for Hermione before the war.
I didn’t want to make things even worse with her, or anyone else. You’re right—I was a coward,
and I’m going to tell Hermione, I promise.”

“The damage is already done, Ron. The paper is out. If she’s sending me letters like this, you can
bet she’s already read it and drawn her own conclusions. Now all you can do is apologize, though
I’m not sure why she’d accept anything from you ever again. How did it come to this, Ron? We’re
supposed to be best friends! When did the notion of right and wrong escape your judgement? Is
Daphne Greengrass—a Slytherin—really worth all this?”

“Don’t you dare speak about her like that Harry! You know she’s not like that—not like Malfoy and
all the others! She is worth losing every friendship I’ve ever had, even ours, if only she’ll let me
love her.”

Harry sighed and pulled his glasses off his face before rubbing his eyes in exhaustion.

“What are you going to do if it does come to that then, Ron? What if Hermione wants nothing to do
with you, and we can never just hang out together, like old times? What then?”

“Then…then I guess you and I can hang out, separately. I suppose I’ll see her at Christmas and for
birthdays at the Burrow. It’ll not be ideal but we’ll manage, right Harry?”

Harry didn’t respond.

“Right?”
“Ron…we’re going to have get-togethers and parties and nights out at the pub…without you. All
our friends will be together, and you won’t be there. I mean, it’s totally up to Hermione, but I’m not
going to invite you, and no one else is either, unless she decides to forgive and forget—but then
there’s me who will have to learn to forgive as well. And Ginny. And the rest of your family, too.
You’ve got to make amends to more people than just Hermione.”

“Yeah, I know. I will. But I doubt my letters are even getting through to her with bloody Malfoy
watching over her like an overgrown lap dog. I don’t trust him with her, Harry, and—”

“You don’t have to trust him with her, Ron. That’s my job, and Kingsley’s and Robards’. You’re
only on the support team for her project. And honestly, after what I’ve just found out, I doubt
you’ve ever truly had Hermione’s best interests at heart. So, just concern yourself with earning our
forgiveness and we’ll focus on her recovery and her work. Do you understand?”

Ron flushed red, never before having been chastised by Harry the way Hermione always used to.

“Yes. Yeah, I understand, mate.”

“Good. Now, I believe you have some apology letters to write, whether she’s been getting them or
not.”

***

“Mother, I have a favor to ask.”

Narcissa glanced up at her only son and smirked, a secret smile on her lips that he refused to delve
into at the moment. He was on a mission, and the longer he was away from Hermione’s side at the
Manor, the longer she was exposed to any number of dangers.

Most of them were herself, though he had instructed Pinky to inform him of when she awoke next.

“Of course, Darling. And what can I do for you?”

“I need access to the Dark Artifact in our vault, preferably within the next three days. It’s a time
sensitive project I’m working on.”

“Oh? And why, exactly, do you need access to an ancient, extremely dangerous artifact that could
not only kill each and every one of us, but also send us to Azkaban or have us set for execution
simply by harboring it in our secret vault that the Ministry has no idea about?”

“I can’t say.”

His mother’s lips turned down at his tone.

“I see. Well, then, I suppose I can grant you access just this once, if you’ll do something for me.”

“What do you want?”

“Well, since Miss Granger is out of commission to make her debut in this season with you on her
arm, I would still like to adhere to other certain traditions for a soon-to-be Malfoy bride.”

“Mother, I never said—”

“Ah-ah-ah, Draco. No, you never said she was your choice, but you never denied it to me, either,
and a promise is a promise. You don’t have to go through with anything or make any commitments
to her if things don’t work out, but you promised to try with someone, and you made it clear you
were going to try with her, specifically.”

“She had just been gravely injured at the Ministry, and I am assigned to keep her safe. I was too
distracted with doing my job well enough to keep her alive! She will not like—”

“Well, she doesn’t have to know we’re readying her for the marriage rites, Draco, we don’t want to
send the poor girl running for the hills! I only want to meet with her with your father, and display
her some flowers and a bracelet as a get-well-soon gift. She is staying on our grounds, after all, and
we would like to be good hosts.”

“I’m not sure she’s yet up to company. She’s had a setback and has been asleep for the entire day.”

“Ah, I see. Well, then as soon as she is better, perhaps we could have tea? You mentioned she was
on bedrest?”

“Yes, due to her head injury. It’s…it’s why I need the artifact. It could help lead to a temporary
solution for her condition.”

“My, my. All that risk, and only for something temporary? It does make me wonder what you’d
agree to do in order to cure her permanently.”

Draco turned rigid.

“Anything, short of something that would compromise this family. I would do most anything to
cure her of the ailment that my family has placed upon her.”

His mother’s smile turned sharply feline, and Draco was worried about what was going to come out
of her mouth next.

“I read something interesting in one of Bellatrix’s old diaries that I’d stolen from her during our
time at Hogwarts, and I also read the book in which she referenced in her musings. I believe I’m
close to figuring out what, exactly, she created, and how to reverse it. But, it’s not temporary. It’s
permanent, a cure. It won’t be able to be finished for an entire year, but the effects will last
indefinitely, that much is to be sure. Would you like the materials for yourself?”

“Yes, mother, of course I want the materials. Why didn’t you come to me immediately with this?
We need to get started right away!”

“I was trying to, dear, but Miss Granger is asleep and healing, as you’ve said.”

“What does having tea and giving her get-well-soon gifts have to do with starting this process?”

“She’ll need to exchange a gift of her own with us, as well.”

“Us? You expect father to be there as well—”

 Draco’s entire frame locked up as the blood drained from his face.

“Ah, I see you’ve finally put it together.”

“Mother…there’s no way…she would never—”

“Even if it will save her life?”

It will destroy her life! To be shackled to someone like me for all eternity—it would be a fate worse
than death for someone like her—”

“Don’t you dare speak about yourself that way, Draco Malfoy. I know we lost our way there for a
long while, and we’re trying to climb our way back into the light, but we are trying, and that is
what matters, is it not? Now, I don’t want to hear anymore of this—any man or woman would be
more than blessed to have you as their soul bonded forever. I raised you to cherish your chosen
witch when that time came, and now that time is here. Show her the benefits to a ritual like this.
Show her the man that I know you to be! Show her how to love you, and you will learn to love her
in kind!”

“The problem is not me learning to love her, mother! She will never love me! She—”

“Master Draco!”

Draco stopped in the middle of his tirade to see Pinky wringing her tiny hands, bouncing on the
balls of her feet.

“Pinky, is she—”

“Mistress Hermione is awake, and she is in the library, as she used the tunnels. Pinky tried to stop
Miss, but the Mistress Hermione insisted! Pinky came to tell you that she is talking with Mister
Lucius in the library—”

Draco didn’t think twice before Apparating on the spot directly to the library, only hoping that his
father wasn’t about to ruin it all, again.

Chapter End Notes

Sort of a filler chapter but very important for what's coming next! What do you this will
happen next? What do you want to happen next? Until next time my lovely readers,

Kristen :)
 Chapter 21
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

June 24, 2005

When Hermione awoke alone, the scent of Malfoy’s cologne still lingered in the air as if he’d been
there all along and had only just stepped out of the room.

Her cheek tingled with the faint after-touch of his fingers on her skin, and she suddenly found her
face heating in embarrassment that she’d held his hand in place like that, forcing him to stay there
by her side as she’d fallen asleep.

The memory of his softened eyes as the fire went out of her anger and the exhaustion and pain had
finally caught up with her had her questioning Malfoy’s motives yet again.

Was he simply trying to make sure she was alright for the sake of his job, or was it something
deeper than that?

Was he trying to make amends for their past together?

She knew he wasn’t evil, like her friends had all tried to insinuate back at Hogwarts.

She knew he wasn’t the same person he’d used to be back then, either,

In all honesty, Hermione couldn’t figure out what to think of Malfoy, so she decided to cast him out
of her mind altogether and focus on much more pertinent things. Like the ache in her bladder, and
the yawning chasm in her stomach where food should’ve been.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had something other to drink than potions, either.

She gingerly toed out of the too-soft bed and groaned at the chill on her feet as she stepped onto the
wooden floors, swaying slightly as she ambled slowly toward the bathroom Pinky had helped her
bathe in the day before.

Sunshine glided through the windows and cast the room in a warm glow as she performed her
perfunctory tasks that included her daily hygiene and wondered briefly where her wand was before
finding a Muggle toothbrush and toothpaste underneath the marble vanity, surprised that Malfoy
would keep such things stocked in his home and wondering if he’d had the items procured
specifically for her.

She fell for the opulence and luxury and dabbed some of the jasmine fragrance oils on her neck and
wrists and washed her face thoroughly, deciding to leave her hair in the tightly bound braid Pinky
had plaited it in the day before as most of the flyaway strands framed her face in smooth coils even
despite her deep sleep, though she knew the shampoos and special soaps Pinky had used in it
previously were most likely the cause for the sudden smoothness of her usually untamable hair.
Hermione prodded at the wound on her head and only barely winced, noting pleasantly that the
majority of her pain was only coming from the poison in her arm and not from the injury to her
head.

Returning to her room, she stopped at the sight of a veritable feast spread out before her bed, Pinky
standing before the food with a pleasant—if a bit nervous—smile on her slight face.

“Mistress Hermione is awake! Pinky is not knowing Mistress Hermione’s favorite foods, so Pinky
is bringing everything from the kitchens! Does Mistress Hermione approve?”

“Oh, Pinky this is all so wonderful. I’m only just worried how my stomach will be able to handle so
much delicious food. You were very gracious to bring me so much.”

“Oh, it was no trouble at all! Does Mistress need anything at the moment?”

Hermione briefly remembered Malfoy saying something about tunnels that connected to the
Malfoy library that she desperately needed access to and decided to utilize the help she had in front
of her while she still could.

“Actually, yes, there is something you could do for me. Once I’m finished eating, could you show
me where the entrance to the tunnels are? Malfoy—I mean, Draco was telling me that I could walk
there on my own since it was such a quick trip, and then I’d be resting on a chair most of the day
anyway. Do you think you could do that for me?”

Pinky began stammering, twitching on the spot and shaking out her hands.

“Mistress Hermione is to be on bedrest—”

“You know what, you’re right, Pinky. I’m sorry to have even brought it up.”

“Well…”

“Yes?”

“I suppose there is no harm in Pinky showing the Mistress Hermione the entrance to the tunnels, in
case Master Draco isn’t available to walk you once Mistress Hermione is allowed to walk around
freely.”

“Oh, Pinky that would be absolutely wonderful, as I know I’m not to Apparate yet in my condition.
It would help me tremendously once I could get back on my feet.”

“Very well. Is Mistress Hermione well enough to walk down the halls and back before eating?”

“Of course. Just a quick trip.”

“If Mistress Hermione would please follow Pinky.”

Hermione strode off after the small elf, using the wall as support as they left her bedroom and
Hermione came to the landing of the stairs and took a sharp right instead of descending them,
taking in the modern, woodsy aesthetic of the cottage as she followed Pinky.

“Here we are,” Pinky said, embellishing her small arms in front of an empty space of wall.
“I’m confused…do I need my wand to open the tunnels? Say an incantation?”

“Oh, no no, nothing like that. You just step forward like so,” Pinky began, walking directly into the
wall exactly like one would step through the platform to board the train to Hogwarts.

The top half of Pinky was invisible while the back half of her stuck out and Hermione did the same,
sticking her head through the unremarkable spot of wall only to find herself faced with the rock
formations of what had to have been the tunnels to the Manor.

“And how far of a walk is it to the Manor?”

“It is magically shortened, Mistress Hermione. It should only take a few short steps, Mistress
Hermione.”

“Magnificent,” Hermione remarked, pulling herself out of the tunnels to tell Pinky she was ready to
return to her rooms as a plan formulated in her mind.

They’d just made it back to her room and Hermione had only just slipped under the blankets when
she made another request of Pinky.

“Pinky, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to be alone for a while. I need some time to myself.”

“Of course, of course. Pinky will leave Mistress Hermione to her resting while Pinky sees to the
rest of the cottage! Please, make sure Mistress Hermione eats!”

“Of course. Thank you, Pinky.”

Hermione felt terribly for tricking the poor elf, but it was for a good cause.

Hermione’s arm itched and burned as a flare up seized her muscles and she clamped her teeth
tightly in order to stave off the whimpers that threatened to erupt from her mouth from the pain.

She needed to start her research, and soon.

The flare-ups hadn’t been that bad in months, as she’d always had a steady flow of magic into her
blood to slow the poison, but with each ritual she performed, the more the efficacy of the treatment
lessened.

She ate as much of the food as she could stomach and waited approximately fifteen minutes after
Pinky had Apparated before swinging her aching legs over the side of her bed, catching her breath
and strode to the large wardrobe in the corner of her room and flung it open to find robes and
comfortable looking clothes suitable for healing, and Hermione was pleased with Malfoy’s
efficiency with getting clothes that fit her before her stay.

She slipped into a matching set of dark blue cotton, the pants more fitted at the ankles than her
normal pajama pants and the button up top reminiscent of a high-end sleep set, but it would have to
do.

She didn’t have much in the way of footwear, so she toed on some white slippers that she’d spied in
the bottom of the wardrobe and was thankful for the fresh set of white, plain undergarments that
had magically appeared for her after her bath the day previously, otherwise she’d have gone
hunting for those as well.
She also hoped that it was Pinky that had acquired such garments for her instead of Malfoy,
because the thought of him picking out her knickers was a bit more than disconcerting to
Hermione.

She tiptoed out the door and ignored the voracious pounding of her head and the raging inferno
licking up her arm that was completely uncovered in all its grotesque glory as she still hadn’t found
her wand to glamour it and made her way back down the hallway to find the hidden entrance to the
tunnels.

As soon as she stepped through to the passageway, all the warmth from the cottage immediately
melted away and was replaced with a lingering chill that caused bumps to arise along Hermione’s
arms and she took step after tentative step as the rock walls around her seemed to start closing in,
and she took a few deep breaths in order to kill the rising panic before it turned into a full-fledged
attack.

Her feet scuffled along the stone floors until the eerie, cold blue light transformed into a warm
yellow brightness that flooded the tunnels after only a few steps, just as Pinky had promised.

A large, spectacular archway stood in front of Hermione and she gasped at its intricacy—words
written in Latin etched into the stone as well as depictions of wizards and witches in battle, wands
alight with dark and light spells.

The door to the library was open already, and Hermione stepped through the archway into a portal
to another world.

It was everything and more than her wildest imaginations could have ever concocted, and she was
more than a little jealous that Malfoy of all people got to grow up in a place that had a library so
magnificent.

Floor to ceiling bookshelves were packed full of tomes, and the shelves stretched on as far as the
eye could see until they disappeared completely from view. It must’ve had a magical extension
charm in order to go on for as long as it seemed.

Ladders were placed here and there in order for someone to reach the highest shelves in case one
didn’t want to use magic to peruse the selection.

Black and white checkered marble floors were cast in flickering shadows from the sconces on the
walls and fireplaces interspersed throughout the main entryway from what Hermione could see.

There were soft, worn looking chairs in front of each fireplace, and there were long rectangular
tables for reading or studying placed in sections to cordon off one area from the next.

There was a podium in the center of the room with a book encased in a secure binding spell, an
ancient looking emerald chaise lounge placed for decoration.

The entire library was like it had been etched out of Hermione’s wildest dreams.

“I take it this is quite impressive to someone like you, would I be correct in that assumption, Miss
Granger?”

Hermione whirled around at the sound of the elder Malfoy’s voice, cringing at his appearance.
Lucius Malfoy had seen better days.

His skin had a yellow pallor, his hair frail and dull, his eyes bleak and surrounded by blueish,
purple bags caused from not sleeping well.

“Mr. Malfoy. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

She wasn’t sure how her voice had come out sounding so strong when, just before she spoke, she
noticed the flick of his eyes to her arm.

She didn’t hide it, or cower behind it.

She was done hiding.

“You’re here to research how to cure that, aren’t you, Miss Granger?”

“Yes, I am. I am also here because your son is my assigned Auror, and he accepted a job to protect
me. Part of protecting me would be keeping me from dying from a poison his family created,
wouldn’t you say?”

Lucius nodded severely, his eyes taking on a thoughtful quality as he looked Hermione up and
down, the gaze unnerving her though she wouldn’t show it.

“Of course, I would. He and my wife are working tirelessly in order to find a cure that won’t entail
such binding side-effects as the one we already found last night.”

“I—last night? I’m sorry, are you saying there’s already been a cure found?”

“That is exactly what I’m saying, Miss Granger.”

There was no malice in his tone, no disgust hiding behind his features.

“If there was a cure, then why didn’t Malf—Draco tell me?”

“I don’t deign to understand the ways of my son’s mind, though I will say it is a bit of a delicate
situation, and I’m not sure I’m the one who should be telling you this. They say I’m losing my
mind, you know.”

Hermione’s own mind was racing, but she could hardly keep up in the change of conversation when
Lucius Malfoy was looking at her like he might come unhinged at any moment.

“No, no I didn’t know that.”

“I’ve seen all kinds of Mind Healers, but no one has been able to do anything. They say I’ll slowly
just go mad until there’s nothing there at all.”

Hermione quirked her head to the side, something nagging at the back of her brain that her Healer
mind just couldn’t let go of.

“If you don’t mind, could you tell me the names of the Mind Healers you’ve seen?”

“I’ve been to Healers Brown, Patil and MacMillan Sr.”

“Mr. Malfoy…while you’ve been to many reputable Mind Healers, I’m afraid the majority of those
you’ve listed have more training in healing physical injuries than the mind. I have lots of
experience with the subject—if you’re still having trouble with your ailment once all of this
business with rogue Death Eaters is finished, perhaps I could take a look at your chart. If, as you
said, they all think your condition is inevitable, it wouldn’t hurt.”

“Why, Miss Granger I’d be delighted. We are going to be family soon enough, after all, and I would
love to live to see my son have children of his own.”

Something short-circuited in Hermione’s brain at his certainty of what he was saying.

“I’m sorry, what do you mean?”

“Oh, please forgive me, Miss Granger. I believe I’ve said too much already.”

Hermione knew by the gleaming, mischievous twinkle in his eyes that it wasn’t the madness
creeping in that had made him say such things, but Hermione was distracted by the distinct crack of
Apparition in the library to pay it much more attention.

“Father. I think you’re done here.”

The lethality in Malfoy’s tone sent shivers splitting through Hermione’s nerves, and she was
terrified to turn around and look him in the eyes, knowing the kind of reprimand she was about to
get.

“Draco, the girl and I were only talking. If only I had a gift to give to her for a get-well-soon
present; it is only customary in situations such as these.”

There was a smirk on the elder Malfoy’s face that was full to the brim with impishness, almost like
Malfoy’s father was having an inside joke at his son’s expense and Hermione was the odd one out.

“Father,” Malfoy warned, and his tone brokered no arguments.

Lucius placed his hands up in the air in surrender.

“Yes, yes, son. I know. I’m leaving. You always were so possessive with your things as a child.”

And with that parting comment, Lucius Malfoy left the library and forced Hermione to turn and
face his son and contemplate the damage his father had left in his wake.

“I know I’m supposed to be on bedrest, but I’m not getting anything accomplished as an invalid
while this poison continues to spread.”

Hermione had hoped that her preemptive excuses would’ve smoothed things over, but she flinched
as she finally met Malfoy’s eyes and found nothing but icy contempt there.

“How did you find the tunnels?”

“Don’t punish her, Malfoy. Please—she was only doing as I asked.”

“I’m not going to punish my elf, Granger. I never have and I never will. That was one aspect of
Pureblood society that I wholeheartedly refused to partake in from the very beginning.”
“And the other aspects of it? When did you stop partaking in the other ideals, like blood purity?
Racism? Hatred and disgust for those you deemed lower than you?”

Hermione knew she wasn’t being fair after everything he’d done for her, but she couldn’t help it.
The fire was licking up her skin and her fury was catching on its embers.

His steely, cold eyes were only fanning the flames as he stood there and said nothing to his defense.

“What about Mudbloods, then? When did you stop believing in that word? I’ve heard you call us
‘Muggleborns’ recently, so it must be new, yes? What of your aunt Andromeda? Is your family
going to allow her—and Teddy—back into the family even despite her marriage to a Muggleborn?
Or maybe your newfound beliefs are only for show in public to get back into society’s good graces
—”

“I couldn’t give a single bloody fuck what society thinks about me. My mother is a different story,
but I couldn’t care less.”

“Then, when was it? When did you decide that blood supremacy was complete and utter bullshit,
and my blood wasn’t actually muddy? When did you realize I am just as much a member of this
society as you? When?”

He’d gravitated closer toward her body like her anger had its own gravitational field and with each
and every cutting remark she was pulling him closer, closer, and closer still.

His nostrils flared as his eyes remained closed off and cold, as if he knew this conversation was
coming but was dreading having it all the same.

“It was Fourth Year.”

Hermione reared back as if she’d been struck.

“F-fourth Year?”

“Yes.”

Some of her anger dissipated as Malfoy took another step closer and she retreated.

They were in a back-and-forth game, playing with each other until one broke.

“Why then?”

She wished it had come out stronger, but it fell from her lips like a whimpered whisper.

His eyes burned cold like a dying star as they latched onto hers and refused to let go.

“That Diggory boy died, Potter started making more noise about The Dark L—Voldemort, and how
he was secretly a Half-Blood, and us Slytherins started to do some digging at home. Asking
inconsequential questions that didn’t seem to mean much to anyone, talking to others outside our
house and families. Nothing added up. And then we all came to the same conclusion—it was all
just some fear-mongering political rhetoric meant to divide society and create an ‘us versus them’
mentality so that one power could rise up to force another beneath their boot. I didn’t want to do the
crushing anymore, Granger. Not when the ones in power started stepping on me, as well. I realized
how much I preferred standing on my own two feet with no one else beneath me.”
Hermione was stunned silent for a few moments before taking in a shuddering breath only to
realize that Malfoy had once again backed her up against a wall, only this time, she was up against
an ornate bookshelf packed full of ancient looking titles.

“And you stayed because…of your parents?”

Her voice was a strained whisper and his body was emanating a heat that seemed to fight with the
fire in her arm and send it scurrying back to its hiding place in her body for a little while.

She enjoyed his heat more than the painful blistering flames of the poison. The poison’s heat
burned, and Malfoy’s heat simply warmed.

“They were threatened, yes. Tell me, Granger—would you go along with a madman’s plans if it
meant your mother wouldn’t be raped and tortured, then murdered before your eyes?”

Hermione flinched.

“Yes. I would have. And that’s why I Obliviated my parents the summer after Sixth Year, making
them forget I ever existed and sent them to Australia, so that no one could ever use them against me
like that ever.”

Malfoy’s eyes widened in surprise at her admonition, and even Hermione wondered why she’d
relinquished that specific detail to him, but once it was out of her mouth, she couldn’t picture
herself trying to take it back.

“You were right to do that, Granger. I heard of a team sent out to find your parents, specifically.”

Hermione recoiled as if she’d been physically struck by the information, her breaths falling in short
gasps at the confirmation of her worst fears.

“So, it wasn’t all for nothing, then.”

Malfoy must’ve noticed her tearing eyes, because he softened his eyes and his voice in kind.

“No, no it wasn’t all for nothing. You saved their lives by doing what you did. I only wish I had the
same courage to do the same.”

“We all had to make hard decisions during the war.”

Malfoy’s eyes turned steely once more as they traveled the black lines up her arm to her shoulder
and she quickly tucked it behind her back but he was quicker than her and snatched it up in his
hands, holding it reverently, gently, as he traced the poisoned veins of her arm with the fingertips of
his other hand.

“Did it work, that day at the Manor?”

She didn’t have to ask him to clarify to know what he meant.

“It was excruciating at first, but then, when you looked into my eyes—it was like I was in a
different place entirely.”

Hermione swallowed thickly before he interjected.

“A bright green meadow with your parents.”

“It was one of my favorite memories of them. I didn’t know you could do that—enter people’s
minds and take them somewhere else. I felt no more pain until she finished and the chaos ensued.”

“I could’ve stopped her. I could’ve taken my wand and Avada’d her right then and there.”

“But then the snatchers and Greyback would’ve killed you, and your parents.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe Dobby would’ve gotten us all out that day, with the rest of you. Maybe
we could’ve given information that would’ve turned the tide, and there wouldn’t have been as
many losses at Hogwarts. There’s so many different ways it could’ve gone, and I took the coward’s
way out.”

Hermione reached up to touch his cheek, pulling his gaze back to hers as he’d glanced off in the
distance when talking about his actions.

“The coward’s way out would’ve been looking away from me, Draco. You didn’t look away. You
watched. You did something. That’s not nothing. You kept my mind intact. I’m not sure I wouldn’t
have broken if it hadn’t been for you.”

He jerked his face out of her palm and gripped her hand more tightly, though there was no pain in
his touch.

“It still got you this, though Granger. This poison is coursing through your veins because I couldn’t
put a stop to my psychotic aunt! If I can’t protect you from my own family, how can I ever be
expected to protect you from—”

“Malfoy! I don’t blame you! What is it you need, exactly? My forgiveness? Take it, I forgive you!
It’s quite ridiculous to keep beating yourself up over something that no one but yourself blames you
for! You’re the only one qualified enough to watch over me and to have full access to my project
because of your Occlumency skills. There is quite literally no one else I’d rather have watching my
back than you—and maybe it’s this sick combination of guilt you’re suffering in over what
happened in the past and your desire to make up for it or something else entirely, but whatever it is
—it’s giving you the determination to do the best job you possibly can to keep me alive, and for
that I am grateful. Alright?”

Malfoy didn’t speak for a few heartbeats, and then the ice thawed and he allowed his own heat to
enter his eyes.

“Yeah. Yeah, alright Granger.”

Hermione let out a huff before eyeing him warily.

“Now, what was your father going on about earlier about you already having found a cure?”

Draco sighed and rubbed a hand over his face before realizing he was still holding Hermione’s bad
arm and tugged her forward as he turned while walking toward the lone podium Hermione had
spied upon her first cursory glance of the grand library.

“We did find a cure, but it’s going to take a year to fully set, and I promise—you’re not going to
like it.”
Chapter End Notes

Hello my lovely readers! What did you think of this chapter? What do you think will happen
next? How are we liking the burn so far with these two?? Let me know your thoughts!! I
appreciate all your comments so much they literally make my entire day so much better
hearing from you! Next update in 2 days or less!

Until next time my lovely readers,

Kristen :)
 Chapter 22

Entry #1

The potion seems to be holding up well, though I’m going to need goblin wrought steel in order for
the poison to fully absorb.

—Use Basilisk Venom?

—Black family blood magic to seal poison in veins

—Test it on myself?

Entry #2

The goblin steel is harder to come by than I previously thought. Will ask mother.

—ask house elf?

Entry #3

cut hand with blade

—side effects:

Bleeding won’t heal with magic

Will follow-up after binding ceremony with Rodolphus*

Entry #4

The bond with Rodolphus is strong, as it’s been a year in the making. Our souls are intertwined and
not even the poison from my blade can harm us. The magic of my family is in my blood, and only
my blood can save one cut by my poison. I nicked Rodolphus last night on the ear to see how he
would react, and the wound heals without a scar with magic.

I cut a Mudblood with it in passing. I can’t wait to hear the news of her death in the papers.

It’s only a matter of time!

***
Theodore Nott wrote the list of all Death Eaters currently imprisoned in Azkaban and sent it
discreetly to his best friend before his shift started, and was startled to find his owl already back
with a note and a parcel which Theo opened quickly and quietly before anyone else could see what
he was doing in his office.

Theo,

Enclosed is a potion. I need you to give this to Macnair before his dinner on your rounds. Don’t
worry about the fallout, I’ll handle it. This letter will burn the moment you’re finished reading.

—Draco

And so, Theo bid as his best friend had asked, even though it could’ve landed them both a stint in
Azkaban each.

There wasn’t much Theo wouldn’t do for his best friend, and he only hoped he’d be able to tell him
what exactly he was risking life and limb for.

He desperately didn’t want to go back to Azkaban. The outfits there were simply dreadful, and he
looked heinous in dull grey.

No, Theo thrived in deep jewel tones and magentas—which reminded him that he definitely needed
to speak to his would-be date in the Department of Mysteries sooner, rather than later, otherwise
someone else would snatch him up the moment they got the chance.

Theo was so deep in thought that he didn’t even have the chance to sniff the potion he was slipping
to Walden Macnair, the nasty old bat in one of the cells reserved for some of the more atrocious
Death Eaters. Theo put a few drops of the potion on the bread Theo knew he gobbled down like
mad once it was set in front of him.

Theo remembered Macnair from his father’s strategic mission planning sessions, and he
remembered the feel of the wizard’s cane on his back as he reprimanded him for saying something
out of turn that was too cheeky for his taste.

Theo had always been too much—too mischievous, too jovial—so Macnair had thought to take him
down a peg or so, and Theo’s father was only all too happy to oblige him.

So when Walden Macnair fell down, struck with what seemed like sudden death, Theo only turned
his head and walked out the doors to let Draco clean up the mess he’d created, whistling a tune to
himself as he imagined which restaurant he’d take his hopeful new-boyfriend to on their first date.
 Chapter 23
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

June 24, 2005

Hermione read the journal entries from Bellatrix LeStrange with a kind of emotional detachment
that she would’ve killed to have at seventeen in the middle of a war that had nothing and
everything to do with those of her blood status.

The war wasn’t on Muggleborns; it was a war on wizarding society itself. Those like Hermione
were only the scapegoat.

And as she read the insane ramblings of Draco Malfoy’s aunt, Hermione was only further and
further convinced of that fact while also simultaneously growing more and more uncomfortable
with what the words she was reading was pointing her towards.

“And how did you learn that this was here? When?”

“I only just discovered the information, and when my mother told me she’d found the information
for a permanent cure, I assumed the most heavily warded book in our library would be where she’d
last left the books for us to read.”

Malfoy’s arm brushed hers as she read yet another entry.

“And this…bond she mentions…” Hermione trailed off, swallowing thickly as Malfoy cast his eyes
down to her fingers where they rested on the page.

“It is the ancient rite performed by most Pureblood families dating back over thousands of years. It
eventually fell out of practice, but the House of Malfoy and the House of Black have continued the
tradition in secret, though in the last few centuries, my family has been steadily bringing it back
into fashion, though it’s hardly ever spoken about in circles outside of Pureblood society.”

Hermione let her gaze rake over Malfoy’s stony face, his features hardening by the second as they
spoke.

“And that still hasn’t answered my question, Malfoy. What is this ritual?”

“In the context of this poison that my aunt created, it is a link between someone not of the House of
Black and someone in the family. It, quite literally, binds their blood together so that the blood of
the House of Black is the only blood that is distinguished. It makes two people one and the same,
indistinguishable from one another, tied together, for eternity.”

“And…your family has done this ritual for generations? Were you expected to perform this ritual as
well?”

“Yes. It was to begin the moment a marriage contract was drawn up, and it would be complete one
year later, on our wedding day.”
“I see…so, Bellatrix created this poison so that only someone with the blood of her family would
be immune to the effects, yes? So, all we have to do then is use blood from the House of Black in a
potion. We could potentially, with trial and error, try multiple attempts where we could use the
blood as a salve, inject the blood directly into my body, or many other options. What do you think?
Perhaps even a transfusion—oh, but that would only work if we were the same blood type—
Malfoy?”

Malfoy had gone whiter than the marble floors beneath them.

“It won’t work that way, Granger.”

“What do you mean?”

His voice had dropped multiple octaves and quavered around the edges, like his throat was curled
up in smoke.

“I mean—I can’t just cut my arm open and drip it onto your open wounds, it won’t work!”

“And you have proof that it won’t work when we haven’t even tried? I thought you wanted to save
my life, Malfoy!”

Malfoy tore away from the book in front of them and ripped his shirt sleeve up on his unmarred
arm so that his milky smooth skin was on display.

His veins rippled as he flexed his hands, whipping his wand out and carving a thin slice along his
skin so that a peal of beautifully scarlet red blood pearled up on the surface.

The sight of blood where before there had been none was so shocking to Hermione’s senses that
she locked up, unable to move or breathe in that thick copper scent as he stalked toward her and
gripped her injured arm with serene care where on his face there was nothing but sinful chaos and
choppy rage undulating in his stormy eyes.

In a flash, her exposed arm was pressed up against his bleeding skin, and she inhaled a shocked
breath as her eyes locked onto his and refused to let go.

His blood was mixing with hers, swirling with the scar that branded her as nothing but a filthy
Mudblood and there Draco Malfoy was, one of the most prominent Pureblood wizards in all of
Britain, and he was mixing his pureness with her ‘filth’.

There he was, staring at her with eyes that could surely raze the earth with its intensity. There he
was, with stone features that could carve through diamonds, holding his bleeding arm to hers just to
prove a point.

Hermione didn’t even have the mind to pull herself away.

There was something smoky and intoxicating about sharing blood with Draco Malfoy.

All the moments of his torment toward her as a child, called her slurs, sneered at her, spat at the
very mention of her name, the time she spent writhing on the ground in the very same Manor they
were standing in—

All of it culminated in this very moment, where his eyes like saltwater spray crashed to shore into
her gaze that captured him and took him in as breathed the sea into her lungs and struggled to stay
afloat in his embrace of blood and death.

“See, Granger? It’s just blood—just fucking Death Eater blood that could never heal anyone.”

He yanked his arm away from her angrily, as if the fact that his blood couldn’t heal her was her
fault somehow.

She tried to meet his eyes once more after he pulled away, but he kept his head turned to the side,
vanishing the mess he’d made and healing his cut quickly as Hermione stumbled, lightheaded, on
her feet.

“Alright, so that didn’t work, but that’s not to say that your blood mixed into a potion, or taken by
mouth, or—”

“We can try whatever the fuck you want, Granger, but the results are going to remain the same.”

His words fell from his lips like waves slamming up against craggy, salt-stained cliffs.

“Why is that, then, Malfoy? Tell me what I don’t know, because it’s not like I can make the correct
inferences by only a few journal entries by your psychotic aunt!”

Malfoy whipped his head toward her once more, his platinum hair catching in the candlelight and
flickering pearlescent to her eyes.

He clenched his fists to that his muscles rippled on his forearm still visible, the indigo veins
crawling up his arms and disappearing beneath the elbow of his white Oxford.

She followed a particularly prominent vein down to his hands, following still to where his large
black and silver family ring rested on his third finger on his left hand.

“You’ve already read the solution, Granger. We’re just going to have to figure out a way to keep
you alive for the next year while the bond strengthens before finally settling into place.”

“What are you talking about? What bond?”

Hermione knew it was a dumb question. Hermione never asked dumb questions, but she couldn’t
help herself. Not this time.

Malfoy cocked his head back to look at her, that familiar sneer that she hadn’t seen on his face in so
long was back.

Back at Hogwarts, she used to wonder if he used to only put on a show with that look on his face,
the one where he could look down on anyone even though he wasn’t quite tall enough to pull it off
quite yet.

Standing almost a full foot taller than Hermione, however, he was surely tall enough to pull it off
now.

He curled his lip as his eyes squinted, his diamond-cutting features turned even more severe in the
library’s flickering candlelight.

Hermione couldn’t help but notice that Draco Malfoy was utterly and astonishingly—
heartbreakingly—beautiful. Like a fallen angel, damned to roam the earth in misery and disdain for
all eternity. Doomed to be tortured by the happiness of those around him that he couldn’t quite
capture for himself.

It made her heart ache for him, all the same.

Even as he advanced on her and they found themselves where they always seemed to—with him
towering over her and Hermione helpless to fall into the wondrous gaze of eyes that could
hypnotize nations, and yet he didn’t seem fully aware of that particular power—especially not how
easily he wielded it over Hermione.

“You know what bond I’m talking about, Granger. You’re just too scared to admit it out loud.”

Hermione swallowed as she breathed him in.

He even smelled of the sea—not fishy and briny, but crisp and salt-tossed, like he’d stood in the
spray of the ocean and allowed the wind to tumble his clothes before spraying on a thin layer of
warm, smoky cologne.

She almost faltered—almost swayed on her feet in his midst and the cacophony of silence left in his
wake after the brunt of his words landed on her fully.

“And h-how are you positive about this?”

“I’m not positive about it. I’m not positive about anything working aside from what you’ve been
doing, but clearly it’s not kept anything at bay if you’re almost this far gone. The bags under your
eyes are so purple they’re almost black. Your skin is so pale its beginning to turn yellow, like your
entire body is shutting down. Your hair is still wild, but it’s so dull it’s almost beginning to turn
grey. You’re dying before my eyes, Granger, and the closer that poison gets to your heart, the less
time we have to stop it. So, like I said, while we look into the permanent cure, we’re going to help
you with what we already know works. Let me worry about the…permanent solution, alright?”

Malfoy gritted his teeth after speaking, the veins in his neck popping out as if he was holding in
everything he possibly could’ve said but instead of speaking the words aloud, he held them in just
in case they did anymore damage.

“I-I think I need some time to read over all of this.”

She glanced back up to his eyes which had glazed over as if he was retreating into his mind.

“Please,” she added, hoping that it would convince him to loosen up just a bit when it came to what
he’d allow her to get her hands on, not that she’d stop trying to get her hands on the information if
he tried to forbid it.

It was easier to ask forgiveness than permission, after all.

He inhaled sharply at her plea and nodded once before taking a step back.

She hadn’t realized how close he’d been until she noticed that the warmth she’d been receiving
from his body had gone.

“Right. Well, I’ll go and pick out the books you’ll want to read concerning the ritual, so I’ll just get
Pinky to walk you back and make sure you actually stay in bed this time.”
Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes at his tone and nodded her head instead.

“Thank you, Malfoy.”

His eyes scrunched slightly in confusion at her words, like he hadn’t expected her gratitude in the
slightest.

“Don’t thank me, Granger.”

“Well, I am, so get used to it. And it’s not just for the books…thank you for taking care of me. And
saving my life at the Ministry—I should’ve said that a long time ago.”

“It’s my job to keep you safe, Granger. And alive.”

He took two steps closer, his stature threatening but his face a closed-off puzzle that Hermione
desperately wanted to piece together.

“I know. I’m still thanking you.”

“Don’t bother.”

“Thank you, Draco.”

“I said—stop it. You don’t…you don’t owe me anything, Granger.”

“I never said I did, I was merely thanking you for keeping me safe.”

Malfoy threw a hand out until it smacked against the solid bookshelf beside Hermione’s head, but
she didn’t flinch.

“Dammit, Granger! You—if anything, I should be fucking apologizing to you!”

She eyed him curiously, wondering where all of his anger was coming from as a storm raged and
lightning struck in the irises of his eyes.

“Well, are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Apologizing.”

He deflated almost immediately, and the effect was dizzying.

One moment he was filled with anger coursing through him, power like Zeus rippling through his
body as he prepared to strike her with his words, but then in the next it was like all the rage had
zapped him and he was only the living embodiment of remorse, guilt, and shame.

Hermione wished he could understand that he didn’t have anything to feel guilty for when it came
to her.

He leaned forward until his forehead was inches from her own, until his breath was fanning across
her face. She didn’t know why, but it always came to this with them. She’d never seen him get so
close when speaking to anyone else, not even his own mother.
Why was she the exception to his rule of close proximity?

“I didn’t think you’d want to hear one from me, Granger. One that encompassed it all? Everything
I’ve ever said and done to you? Why the fuck would you ever forgive me in the first place? Who
am I to deserve it?”

His eyes darted from side to side, as if checking both of her eyes for understanding in what he was
asking her.

He was asking her to hold a grudge against him—to never forgive him for the things that he’d done
to her.

“Malfoy—I forgave you long ago for the things that happened when we were children. That
resentment that I had for your actions was more a poison in my system than the actual poison
working to kill me. If I let my anger and my misery swallow me up…I probably would’ve taken
my own life instead of fight to find a cure so that I can live how I know I’m meant to live. Walking
around with all that pain—it would’ve killed me faster than your aunt is still trying to do from the
grave. I won’t give her the satisfaction. So, yes, I forgave you. I forgive you. It has nothing to do
with worthiness, or even if you’re truly sorry now, because that still won’t change my answer. Do
you understand that?”

Malfoy watched her intently, never wavering in his searching gaze.

“I’m sorry, Granger. You’ll never know how truly sorry I am, for everything I’ve done to you. I will
spend lifetimes trying to make up for it.”

And, Hermione realized with a start as she took in his whispered words, if they were forced to go
through with this bonding ritual that they would, in fact, be tied together for eternity.

He could very well be ‘making it up to her’ for multiple different lifetimes, when they would find
each other in different bodies, in different times, different places and different worlds.

“You don’t have to protect me out of guilt, Malfoy—if that’s why you took this job.”

He sucked in a sharp breath and blinked his eyes once, keeping them closed before bringing his
hand up to rub them between his fingers.

“Even if it wasn’t the reason I took the job, I was clearly the best option you had, and I would do it
again, even if the circumstances were different.”

The more and more Hermione spent in his presence, she was starting to realize it—that Draco
Malfoy was a good man.

She only wished it hadn’t taken torture and a traumatizing war in order for him to turn out that way.

“I know.”

He only spared her a few more seconds of staring before he broke the silence.

“Pinky.”

The elf appeared with a nervous smile on her face.

“Please take Hermione to her room and make sure that she doesn’t leave. If she does, alert me
immediately.”

“Yes, of course Master Draco. Mistress Hermione, please come with me! I have so many fun things
to show you; perhaps I could even braid your hair again!”

Hermione turned to walk away with Pinky, but couldn’t help another glance back behind her once
she reached the arches that would lead her out into the tunnels and back to the cottage.

Draco hadn’t moved—he was still standing in the exact same spot she’d left him, arm braced
against the bookshelf in front of him and body angled downwards as if he were still talking to an
incorporeal version of her that he imagined was still there.

But his eyes were on her, like they’d never left her from the moment she turned around.

She had to whip back around quickly to hide the blush crawling up her cheeks.

***

Draco received a letter from Theo later that night. It was done.

Draco bypassed the wards in his parent’s section of the Manor and appeared before his mother’s
wing, who was waiting for him already in her sitting room.

“The object is on the table there, Draco. And do I need to remind you to be careful?”

“No, mother. You don’t need to remind me.”

He strode towards the object shrouded in grey cloth and the power emanating from it was
thrumming through his fingertips and traveled through his veins until it reached the core of his
magic.

“Please tell me you didn’t touch the cloth directly, mother?”

“Of course not, Draco, I’m not that foolish. Especially not foolish enough to touch the object
directly, either,” she said, casting a pointed look in her son’s direction but he only ignored the
comment and refused to roll his eyes as he had wanted.

“You know I have to do this.”

“Yes, I do know. That doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.”

Draco gave his mother a parting nod and escaped to his study in the Manor, his fingers shaking as
the object seemed to radiate lustful power that was calling to him to use it already.

It was time for Walden Macnair’s semi-dead body to make an appearance in the Malfoy dungeons,
and if Draco didn’t get sent to Azkaban for the action, he knew he still would do it again even if he
was caught.
 He was starting to find that there wasn’t much of anything that he wouldn’t do for Hermione
Granger.

Chapter End Notes

We're not even halfway there yet and I have so much more story left to write, but please let me
know your thoughts on the direction this story is taking! I'm so excited to see how the story
evolves! Your comments and kudos mean so much to me, I love this community so much!!

Until next time my lovely readers,

Kristen :)
 Chapter 24
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

June 25, 2005

Malfoy,

Need your assistance ASAP. Need any information about Death Eaters finding ways to circumvent
Veritaserum. Just caught one of them in a lie while under it, so we are testing each of them to prove
our hypothesis that during a war they discovered a way to fight the effects. Any information you
have on the subject is needed, and you’ll need to come in when Granger is off bedrest to check
memories—our current Legilimens can’t do half of what you’re capable of.

Report back to me as soon as you get this. We’re going to need all the help we can get in order to
figure out the full scope of their operation.

—Robards

Draco had been dreading this moment.

The Death Eaters were caught in a lie while on Veritaserum and the Ministry suddenly knew that
they had found some way to bypass the potion’s effects.

He’d assumed that the Ministry’s current Legilimens would’ve been able to extract the majority of
information from the Death Eaters, but apparently Draco had been misinformed about the amount
of the Dark Lord’s followers that had been in on the operation.

Some of the best potioneers had reverse-engineered the Veritaserum potion and taught most of the
Death Eaters in the Inner Circle how to circumvent the effects of the truth-telling potion.

They had also come up with a more potent version in order to use against their prisoners and any
possible traitors. If there was one thing the Dark Lord got right, it was his paranoia. He’d made sure
that each and every follower was unable to withstand the new-and-improved Veritaserum, aptly
titled ‘V’ and would use it on his subjects near-daily.

Draco still knew the exact composition of how to brew it, as he was put to good use during the war
in his family’s dungeon potions lab when he wasn’t on mission with his aunt or the Dark Lord
himself.

He knew that he was going to have to tell Robards his knowledge of the composition of V and how
to brew it properly so that the Ministry could be ahead of the curve in stopping the Death Eater
resurrection and so that Granger could come out of hiding with him.

Draco, however, was not thrilled about the idea of leaving Granger in the cottage, alone save for
Pinky and his mother, just to look into minds that would be easily manipulated while on V. Even
though his father’s condition seemed to be looking up and Draco had warded the cottage to the best
of his abilities with the dark magic he’d learned while being on the wrong side of a war, he wasn’t
completely positive that his father wouldn’t try to go and find Granger to perform aspects of the
ritual that she still wasn’t comfortable with.

Draco knew that even if she had agreed to the ceremony and the rigid requirements that it asked of
both parties involved, including the biological parents of both parties (if they were still alive), it
still wouldn’t encompass the severity of the ritual.

Even in death, they would find each other, never parting, never having a choice.

Draco had always assumed that his fate would be bound to a Pureblood society witch, and it was
true that he’d been dreading the binding since the moment he’d learned of his duty to his family to
perform it, but he couldn’t lie to himself and say that there wasn’t a spark of excitement and curious
desire there when he realized that it would be swotty, war heroine Hermione Granger that would be
bound to him for all eternity.

Draco finished writing his letter to Robards about the V including how to create it exactly and
asked for an extension on coming in to the Ministry, knowing that when he finally stepped foot
back in the DMLE, Robards would be all over him about why he’d kept the V information to
himself.

That was one conversation he was dreading having.

Draco shook his head and pasted on his most unaffected, leering smirk as he approached the
dungeons.

“Wake up. Breakfast time.”

Draco splashed the wizard in front of him with the cup of water that was mean to be his drink for
the morning.

“Oops. Sorry, my hand must have slipped.”

Walden Macnair, ugly old beast that he was, hardly roused from his curled up spot on the ground.

“W-what’s happened? I thought—I thought I was dead!”

“You were, technically. You can thank whatever deity you pray to that you’re still alive,
unfortunately for us all. Now, I need you to eat. You won’t be suffering for long—only about five
days more by my calculation.”

Unless he could get Granger stronger in her time at his cottage, and then she’d be visiting him
much sooner in order to regain some of her magical strength and push the poison back and away
from her heart as it was crawling precariously closer and closer each time he saw her.

The thought of her succumbing to the poison sent frissons of terror scurrying through his veins,
however, so he didn’t like to think about such things.

Draco began spreading the salt circle around the cell, away from where Macnair could touch it, and
placed a sustaining spell on it so that a stray wind or draft couldn’t disrupt the small particles of
salt.
“How did I get here? This isn’t the Ministry.”

Macnair’s voice cracked with old age and disuse as Draco pushed a plate of dry bread and meat
through one of the slats in the bars with his wand and watched as the old bat scarfed down the food
as if the Ministry hadn’t fed him once since his capture, which, Draco thought with humor, they
probably hadn’t.

The memory of the executioner of the Dark Lord swinging his axe down on Draco’s favorite non-
magical horse was still painted fresh on the backs of his eyelids every night he tried to fall asleep.

“Let’s just say I have my ways.”

The Dark Artifact’s lore was ever-changing, but one thing thad Draco knew to be true was that it
was a rock carved from a meteorite that wizards long ago had imbued with the same powers as
Apparition as well as magical signature tracking, among multiple other properties.

All Draco had had to do was hold the stone in his hand and think of the one person he desperately
wanted to call forth, and they were sucked from their position into a dimension outside of their
own, only to be transported where the object’s owner wanted them.

For Draco, it had been Macnair in his dungeons.

There was a sizable burn mark in the center of Draco’s palm that wasn’t healing properly, but other
than that, the spell had gone off perfectly.

Macnair had even arrived unconscious, thanks to the potion Draco had instructed Theo to give
Macnair which resembled death. Macnair was on his way to be incinerated when Draco pulled him
out of thin air to land in his dungeons.

No one would miss him, just as Draco had planned.

He had only just begun to settle in and think of all the ways Draco would kill him once Granger
had disposed of his magic when his favorite—and only—House Elf appeared with the same
tenuous and nervous energy as she had the day before.

He could only imagine what Granger was up to this time.

“Master Draco, Mistress Hermione is up and about, walking down the stairs even though Pinky
advised against it, Mistress Hermione is insisting on doing things by herself!”

Draco took one more glance back at one of the many wizards who starred in his nightmares every
night and pinched his fingers over his eyes before sighing in exasperation.

What was he going to do with that witch?

***

Hermione awoke alone.

She was used to the quiet, but she did miss her furry companion, and she was glad when she’d
asked Pinky to pop over to her flat to check that he was taken care of and was pleasantly surprised
to learn that Ginny and Harry had taken in Crookshanks for the time being.

What Hermione was also used to, however, was the loneliness.

It was a desolate landscape of bleak cold, and her eyes burned as she remembered the first few
nights when it had been only her and her books and her cat.

Was she destined to live that way, forever?

If George’s ridiculous fortune-telling parchment was anything to go by, then she’d be married with
four children soon enough, but Hermione never put much stock in the Divination of it all.

Sitting up gingerly and prodding at her head wound, Hermione had come to realize that she
preferred physical pain to mental pain. It was easier to treat the symptoms of a physical ailment
than heartbreak, and while she had been long over Ron Weasley and the relationship they shared,
that didn’t mean that she didn’t still miss him and his friendship.

Despite their tumultuous relationship in school, once the war had completed, he’d been a rock for
more than just her. Maybe it was the willingness to sacrifice his own mental well-being and putting
others above himself that had caused him to step out on Hermione once he got a taste of that
selfishness that he used to cling to at Hogwarts. He’d always been so used to hand-me-downs that
realizing he could have it all was such a new concept to him, and he’d decided to dip his toes in the
water.

She’d brushed off thoughts of Ron somewhere between brushing her teeth and re-braiding her hair
like Pinky had done for her the night before when she’d helped her wash herself once more in those
sweet-smelling tonics and potions.

If there was anything that she was going to miss about this necessary hideout on the Malfoy Manor
grounds, it would be the jasmine scented tonics that Pinky put in her hair to make it smooth, shiny,
and less dull and lifeless than Malfoy had pointed out the night before.

She was donning a light, flowing floral print sundress from her wardrobe when she thought of the
things he’d told her the night before.

Swot that she was, she’d researched until her eyes threatened to bleed out of her head if she read
anymore.

She couldn’t imagine that Malfoy of all people would be alright with going through with such a
complex bonding ceremony, a tradition for Pureblood families, with someone like her.

Hermione still didn’t know what to think—or feel—about the entire situation. There was one
interesting tidbit that she’d learned in her research as well—if their souls were truly a match, as
they were in ten percent of all binding ceremonies, their entire personalities surrounding the other
would change drastically once the bonding rites began.

Where Hermione could be good under pressure and had a fiery persona, she could adopt Malfoy’s
cool, calm charisma and quiet fierceness. Where Malfoy was subdued, quiet and intensely severe,
he could obtain Hermione’s powerful temper and rash bravery.
The ancient magic behind it all was so fascinating that she could almost forget that it was a real
scenario plaguing her and Malfoy. Almost.

Hermione had slid on some slippers and strode to the staircase to find Pinky waiting for her, a
placid smile on her face.

“Hello, Pinky.”

“Good morning, Mistress Hermione. Does Mistress wish to go back to her room and sit down while
Pinky delivers breakfast?”

Hermione crinkled her nose at the idea.

She’d downed the pain potions on her bedside table and enjoyed the fading throb in her skull that
accompanied its effects.

“No, thank you, Pinky. I was going to go downstairs and see the kitchen for myself, see what’s
around that I can whip up for myself. You don’t have to worry yourself.”

Hermione grabbed the wooden bannister and began descending the steps one at a time, not even
noticing the burn in her arm as she did so.

She’d used wandless magic to glamour her scar and the poison, unable to look at it any longer
without feeling nauseated.

Hermione had made it to the landing without falling over, but she was breathing heavily, and her
head swam a bit before she righted herself and Pinky noticed, Apparating away quickly with a loud
pop.

Hermione sighed. She could only assume who she was going to get in order to tell on her.

Even though she knew it would be Malfoy, she secretly hoped it’d be Narcissa. She surprisingly
enjoyed the older witch’s company, even despite her actions in the war. Maybe it was her relation to
Andromeda that Hermione decided to see, instead of the physical attributes she shared with the
woman who’d poisoned her and was slowly killing her from beyond the grave.

Hermione moved to the kitchen and took in the wooden accents, the veritable garden growing on
the large windowsill that was mounted above the large farmhouse sink, the sage greens and creams
and flourishing plants interspersed all throughout the space.

The kitchen was something out of her dreams, and she was instantly more jealous of Malfoy than
she’d been when seeing his Manor for the first time.

Yes, the Manor was a sign of pure wealth and status, but the cottage was its own entity set off from
all that grand opulence that seemed to blind anyone upon first witnessing it.

No, the cottage was something completely different than the Manor, like it was created in a separate
world entirely. She couldn’t see anyone growing up there, but the cottage? It was somewhere she
had dreamed of growing up in, of raising her own family in. She was suddenly far more than
jealous of Malfoy.

She was just beginning to root through the cabinets and reach for a coffee mug too high for her to
reach when the familiar jolt of Apparition shook the glassware a bit.
“Bedrest: noun. Complete confinement of an invalid to bed as part of treatment.”

“Excuse me, I am not an invalid!”

She was about to turn around to give him a real piece of her mind when her arm just barely grazed
the cool porcelain of the cup she wanted when a large hand splayed against the curve of her waist
and an obscenely warm, muscled, and divinely scented chest pressed up against her back until her
front was plastered to the countertop in front of her and she was forced to wait until he brought
down what he was reaching for in the first place.

The shock of his body touching her in so many different points of contact was enough to suck all
the air from her lungs and leave her choking on the breath she’d planned on asking him what the
hell he thought he was doing.

As such, however, nothing came out of Hermione’s mouth except for a small squeak, which then
caused Malfoy’s chest to rumble against her body with an amused chuckle, which then caused
Hermione to feel as if she would never be able to take another breath for the rest of her life.

Her head swam from the lack of oxygen and she braced her hands against the countertop in front of
her.

Malfoy pulled back far too soon and she felt the loss of his warmth immediately, but was grateful
for the influx of air she was able to inhale once the effects of his nearness had dissipated.

Malfoy looked her over curiously before summoning her wand from somewhere she couldn’t see,
and the familiar feel of the vine wood in her hands was like coming home after a long vacation.

“Thank you,” she breathed out, staring down at her wand like he’d returned a piece of her soul.

“I figured you’d need it in order to perform some basic spells around the cottage, like getting a mug
off a high shelf when no one else is around to get it for you. Though you could’ve just asked Pinky
to get you tea or coffee.”

“I wanted to see the place, and doing things by myself only comes naturally.”

“I’m sure it does.”

Hermione quirked an eyebrow at him as he set to making a pot of tea and placed the mug down on
the countertop in order to fetch the pot.

“Oh? And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Malfoy’s mouth grew into an amused smirk, and he rolled the sleeves of his dark blue dress shirt up
until his Dark Mark was exposed, something she didn’t think he normally did.

Maybe he wanted her to know she didn’t have to glamour her own scar, a Dark Mark of her very
own…

Malfoy’s muscles flexed as he poured steaming hot liquid into her mug, and she noted briefly that
Draco Malfoy made tea the Muggle way.

“It means that you’re the most stubbornly independent witch I’ve ever met. Even if it goes against
your own interests.”
 “It’s good to be independent Malfoy. I never need to rely on anyone for anything, never have to
owe anyone anything.”

“Sounds like lonely existence, Granger.”

She glanced up to find his raincloud eyes locked onto hers as pale sunlight filtered through the sink
window, casting him in golden rivulets of incandescence, so completely at odds with his moonlight
personality.

“Maybe that’s how I prefer it,” Hermione retorted primly, leaning back against the counter as they
eyed each other from opposite sides of the room.

At least he didn’t have her pinned up against the wall or a bookshelf. Yet…

“No one prefers to be lonely, Granger. Trust me—I’d know.”

She wanted to delve into that statement—to pull back the layers of it and unravel everything that
Draco Malfoy was and had ever been, but her thought process was cut short with a shout through
the Floo in the living room.

“Hey! Malfoy! Get your skinny arse over here so I can promptly kick it in for locking me out of
your Floo! What if this was an emergency? And you haven’t even checked up on me once after that
attack that I was almost a part of if I hadn’t gotten to St. Mungo’s in time! What, too busy for me
now that you’re a fancy Auror? I know it’s Granger you’re protecting—Salazar knows what those
twats want with her. Draco! Draco Malfoy do you hear me?”

Hermione managed to stifle her smile as Malfoy rolled his eyes up to the ceiling in exasperation.

“Granger! I know you’re there, too, you have to be!”

Hermione had just stepped away from Malfoy when his arm surged out to grasp her own within his
but she evaded him quickly, moving toward the sitting room where the disembodied voice was still
screeching.

Hermione pasted on Malfoy’s signature smirk and quirked an eyebrow at the figure in the fireplace.

“Hello, Pansy.”

Chapter End Notes

Let me know which side characters you want to start seeing crop up as someone's bedrest
might be over soon ;)

Until next time my lovely readers,

Kristen :)
 Chapter 25
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

June 25, 2005

“Granger. Well, good to know you’re actually still alive, unlike some of the rumors that you were
killed after the attack and they’re hiding it in order to keep the public at bay.”

“Pansy Parkinson, glad that I’m alive? I must’ve stepped into an alternate dimension.”

“Don’t flatter yourself Granger. I’m only glad because your death would mean far too much trouble
for my best friend, here. Now, shoo—I’ve got something important to ask him, and you can’t be
listening in, understand?”

“Understood, Parkinson. Converse away.”

Hermione tried to hide the pleased smile on her face at being able to escape and research more, as
her personally instituted physical exertion of the day would be up by the time she made her way
back up the stairs to her room.

“Granger—”

“Worry not my captor, I’m only going back to my room. You can even ask Pinky.”

Upon hearing her name, the elf appeared much less nervous than usual, with her pillowcase of the
day in a stunning teal that brought the grey out of her pallor and painted her skin in a beautifully
flushed pink, very similar to her namesake.

“Pinky will escort Mistress Hermione up the stairs to ensure she not hurt herself unintentionally.”

“That would be lovely Pinky. Thank you very much.”

The elf looked at her with suspicion in her big wide eyes.

“Granger.”

Hermione lifted her head to see Malfoy watching her with the same air of skepticism as Pinky had
that she was actually going to her room to do as she said.

“Honestly, one unchaperoned trip to the library and suddenly everyone deems me untrustworthy.”

Malfoy’s silver eyes gleamed with amusement as the rest of his face stayed blank and stoic before
he shook his head slowly, platinum strands falling into his dark eyelashes and he turned back to
Pansy in the fire.

“As I was saying, I have information but I didn’t want to go to the Ministry—”
Hermione turned away and headed up the stairs before the rest of Pansy’s words could reach her
ears.

Her priorities weren’t about what Pansy needed with the Ministry. She wasn’t even prioritizing
finding the remaining Death Eaters apparently out to get her for her magic stealing rituals.

Her main priority was to stay alive, by any means necessary.

Which was why, two hours later, she had made a massive dent in the reading material given to her
about the bond that was supposed to save her life…by binding her inextricably to Draco bloody
Malfoy.

There were a series of traditions and rituals, some magical and some not, that would lead to their
final bond, which ultimately resulted in a consummation of their bodies at the end of the year in
order for the spell to take.

Because it was, after all, a spell.

One of the most complicated spells she’d ever had the pleasure of witnessing, even on the paper.

There was an advanced bit of Arithmancy, Divination, Alchemy and Astrology intermingled with
blood mixing, dancing naked underneath a solstice, family gift exchanges, ring ties, vows, and
twelve more intricacies that she couldn’t remember off the top of her head.

It was enough to make Hermione’s head spin, but the mechanics behind Malfoy’s suggestion about
using the bond to save her life was solid.

She couldn’t focus too long on the fact that along with saving her life, however, she would never be
parted from Draco Malfoy, even in death.

She’d only just started to tolerate him, let alone start thinking about a life with him.

Because that’s what she would have to have.

Not only would she have to have sex with him to save her life, but she would have to have children
with him if she ever wanted them in the future. Even if she wanted to part with him after the ritual,
her body wouldn’t allow her to bear children with another other than her soul bonded.

The thought of physically touching another man in a sexual way would be sickening, even the
thought would turn her stomach, and the same would go for Malfoy with any other women.

Once they committed to this, it was forever.

Once it was past a certain ritual, there was no turning back. If they didn’t complete the ceremony
after the solstice where they would dance naked beneath the moon and stars to an ancient dance of
the gods and drink a concoction of the other’s blood, they would slowly wither away and die.

Not to mention the fact that during their bonding rituals, for the entire year, they would crave each
other and be desperate to be together at all times. The bond would make it so that they always had
to be in the other’s vicinity otherwise the longing would elicit a physical response, either in
sickness or emotional distress.

Would Hermione do it in order to stay alive?

Yes. Without a question.

The thought of death was far too terrifying a thought to ever consider letting herself slip away.

It was one of the only things she was truly afraid of, and she refused to face it before she was well
and over the age of eighty years old after having lived a full life, put away as many dark witches
and wizards as she could catch and passed as many laws protecting those who could not protect
themselves.

Ending the corruption in the Ministry and becoming the youngest Minister for Magic in the history
of the wizarding world wouldn’t hurt, either.

Hermione had just given up on reading about the bond for the day when she began to look at
George’s joke parchment and was reading about her four future children that she’d most likely be
having with Malfoy when an owl tapped on her window and she got up gingerly to let it in, still
careful on her feet as the pain potions always ready on her bedside made her feel woozy.

She had just detached the four parcels of her mail before the red Howler burst open and Hermione
flinched back as the roaring sound of Ginny Potter’s voice screeched at her.

“Hermione Jean Granger! How could you do this? How could you keep something like this from
us, for so long? Seven bloody years, Hermione! You are DYING and you never thought to tell your
best friends, your family?! We could have been…we could have been helping you and—and—and
now you’re suffering with bloody Malfoy of all people when the people who need to be there for
you can’t be! How do you think Harry and I feel, knowing you could be gone at any moment and
we’d never have the chance to say goodbye? We LOVE you, Hermione! We love you, and we can’t
imagine why you would think you had to hide this. We could have helped you come up with a cure
faster, something, anything! Please, please I just—I can’t lose anyone else, Hermione. You’re the
only sister I have…Please…you can’t die—”

The Howler cut off into sobbing wails and Hermione flinched when a droplet of her own tears fell
onto her arm.

It had been so long since she’d cried. She used to think she was broken, emotionless, a robot shell
where the inside was emptiness.

Hearing Ginny’s anguish for her condition, however…it broke some kind of invisible tether that
had been holding her emotions at bay, and she couldn’t control the onslaught of pain that came with
it.

The next letter was Harry’s pain, written in ink that smudged with Hermione’s tears, explaining
how, exactly, they had found out she was dying in the first place.

Hermione,

I don’t really know what to say to you right now. I’ve lost almost everyone I’ve ever cared about in
my life, and now I’m facing losing someone I consider to be my sister, and there’s nothing that
encompasses this pain. This feeling, no one prepares you for, and it never gets easier, with all the
losses I’ve had. There’s no rule book on grief. I’m grieving you already, like you’re already dead,
because that’s what Padma said. Ron took her out for drinks. He was suspicious about your
condition, said things weren’t adding up. He poured Veritaserum in her drink and she told him
everything. She had to, even if it went against protocol, and Health of Wizard’s Information Act. He
didn’t care what he’d done, but once he found out—he went on a tear and got himself arrested, if
you can believe that. He’s in bad shape, Hermione, and he’s currently in the cells at the DMLE
waiting for me to come bail him out, but I’m not sure who I’m more angry at—him, for violating
your privacy and learning of your condition without your consent—or with you for keeping it from
us for so long in the first place. I just…I don’t understand it, Hermione, and I don’t think I ever will.
I love you, Ginny loves you, my kids love you. They’ve never had to mourn someone. Never known
death. I don’t know how to prepare them for this. I can’t. I can’t do this again, not again, Hermione.
Please write me back and let me know you’ve got some master plan up your sleeve. Tell me your
genius self has worked it out and you’ll be cured. I don’t even care if its a lie, just—don’t tell me
you’re dying, Mione. It can’t be true.

I love you.

—Harry

Her sobs were muffled by Ginny’s cries as the Howler floated by her head, but then the message
ripped itself into shreds and she was there, by herself.

Just like always.

Just like she had made sure of.

The next letter was a notification of the violation of her HOWIA from St. Mungo’s and the notice
that Padma Patil was on suspension pending investigation due to the nature of the violation.

The last piece of mail made Hermione’s heart shred up just like Ginny’s Howler, though she wasn’t
sure which pain hurt more—rage, or heartbreak.

They both burned just the same in her chest.

GOLDEN GIRL DYING: HOW HERMIONE GRANGER HID HER TORTURE AND
SUBSEQUENT POISONING BY BELLATRIX LESTRANGE A SECRET FOR OVER
SEVEN YEARS
By Rita Skeeter
25, June 2005
The Daily Prophet, Editor In Chief

It is a sad, heartbreaking day for our community today. We have just learned through strong,
reliable sources that Hermione Jean Granger, part of the Golden Trio that saved our world from
the most dangerous dark wizard of our time, passionate advocate for lesser creatures, holder of an
Order of Merlin, First Class, Master Healer, dutiful friend, and the unequivocal Brightest Witch of
Our Age with earning ten OWL’s at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, unheard of for a
Muggleborn witch, let alone a student only in her Fifth Year—is dying.

This editor is in shambles upon the writing of this news, as our shining beacon of hope in our world
is relegated to a secure location where she can pass in peace.
According to previous said sources, during the war, our brave war heroine Miss Granger was taken
captive with Ron Weasley and The Boy Who Lived (then died, and lived again) Harry Potter and
taken by Snatchers for deceased dark wizard Tom Riddle (A.K.A. Voldemort) to none other than
Malfoy Manor, where the dark wizards had seized control of the estate by force upon the Malfoy
family.

There, Bellatrix LeStrange performed the Cruciatus Curse upon our Golden Girl, for what our
source says was an indeterminate amount of time, though her screams, as described by an eye-
witness to the torture, were ear-splitting and devastating.

After torturing Miss Granger, LeStrange then took out a cursed blade and carved something upon
Miss Granger’s arm, the blade itself imbued with a poison that has been slowly killing our Golden
Girl since the incident occurred.

One can only wonder at how Miss Granger was so strong, to be serving our government so
competently all while suffering in silence.

This writer can only credit Miss Granger for her courage, strength, and sense of selflessness to not
only give her childhood to saving our world, but her life, as well.

Our wishes and love will always be with you, Golden Girl.

For speculation on the word carved into Miss Granger’s arm, please see page 12.

Hermione was shaking with rage, heartbreak and the unfairness of it all.

For seven long years, she’d tried to keep it all a secret, and now suddenly her whole world knew
the intimate, disturbing and disgusting details of her trauma?

Tremors rocked her body as she rocked back and forth on her bed, the papers strewn around her
like shell casings, each a bullet aimed straight at her center, set to destroy her from the inside out.

She wanted to pull her hair out by the root.

She wanted to carve a bloody path down her arms until her scar was bleeding and oozing the black
blood that she was stained with on the inside, painting her a living corpse thanks to her torturer.

She didn’t hear the door open, didn’t see Malfoy enter her room and didn’t hear him as her if she
was alright.

She did, however, smell his familiar, and somehow comforting, scent of warm smoky sea waters,
and she leaned into him wherever he touched her.

Had he moved her first, or was it her?

Her sobs shuddered and rocked her body as he held her in his arms, strengthening her where all she
had was weakness.

Her head was on his shoulder and her body was in his lap but he wasn’t recoiling in disgust. He
wasn’t reviling her for crying, for losing her mind in front of him.
He only patted her head and brushed his lips across her forehead, keeping her still, holding her
steady like an anchor in his vast ocean so she could finally, somehow, pull her head from the navy
blue waves that were trying to kill her, too.

She wondered, briefly, if Malfoy would be the one to finish her off, or if he’d be her salvation in
the end.

***

Draco finished his call with Pansy and was relieved to note that her information could lead to them
finding Greyback, after all—and if not Greyback himself, at least over half of the remaining
followers.

It helped having friends who had uncles who were never convicted yet still rumored to be a Death
Eater who had run to Spain at the beginning of the battle at Hogwarts as part of a ‘contingency’ in
case the battle hadn’t gone as planned.

When he’d showed up randomly at Pansy’s estate with no warning, she’d immediately gone into
spy mode and gleaned as much information off him as she could before coming to tell Draco.

Perhaps it would keep Robards busy enough for Draco to evade the questions under Veritaserum, or
rather, the new V that the Ministry's potioneers had surely already developed since receiving his
owl, about why, exactly, he hadn't given the information immediately upon his hire to the Ministry.

The Ministry would pick Parkinson's uncle up the next day after all, but for now, Draco had a
certain frizzy-haired swot he needed to see to.

He smiled as he thought of how bouncy and wild her curls usually were, but lately they’d been
contained in a tight braid, most likely courtesy of Pinky.

He’d just been about to ask the elf to leave it down next time when he heard the gut-wrenching
sobs.

He’d taken just two steps into her room after Apparating to her door immediately when he spotted
the shredded up remains of what had to have been a Howler.

“Granger, what’s wrong?”

She was sobbing into her hands, knees pulled up to her chest while rocking herself back and forth.

The sight of her pain was a physical blow to Draco’s chest, and he pressed a hand to his chest to try
and smooth away the ache that had suddenly appeared at her anguish.

“What’s happened? Are you hurt?”

No answer, like she didn’t even know he was there at all.

He edged forward, and when he saw the article by Skeeter and read it in full, he was beginning to
understand, but nothing could prepare him for the shock of what the Weasel had done to her.
 Draco had had a legitimate reason to find out about Hermione’s condition—he was her assigned
Auror to keep her safe—not Wesley, of all people. He’d only told his parents because he knew
they’d have the solution, as they did.

He certainly didn’t go around telling every witch and wizard with ears—especially not Skeeter.

It was more than a new low, and that wasn’t counting the torture Skeeter had written about—no
wonder Granger was in such a state.

He placed his hand on her arm and she leaned into him, wrapping herself around him as if she were
trying to crawl into his very skin.

Slowly, he edged himself over to the bed and she lunged into his lap, tightening her arms around his
neck as she cried, and cried, and cried.

Something inside of Draco snapped, a cord of tension that had kept him still, and he wrapped his
arms around her right back.

One thing was for certain—he was going to murder each and every person who’d ever hurt her—
starting with the “eye-witness” to the torture that obviously had to be Weasley. Who else could it
have been? Everyone who had been in that room was either dead or on the run or him and his
family. He knew he and his family hadn’t said anything, Greyback was on the run, Potter would
never do such a thing to Granger as evidenced by his love for her in his letter, and Granger surely
wouldn’t have told Skeeter of all people about her excruciating torture.

Draco still shuddered at the memory of her pain from that Crucio. It was one of the strongest curses
he’d had to endure, but he would’ve done it all over again if it meant she would be spared that pain.

“It’s alright, Granger. You’re alright.”

There was another piece of parchment on the bedside table, and Draco could just barely make out
George Weasley’s name, alongside his own. Draco furrowed his brow at the writings below it,
stating he would be getting married within the year, but not to whom.

Apparently he’d go on to have four children, if the shoddy Divination work in the spelled
parchment was to be believed.

And, would you look at that—Granger was going to be married on the exact same date, and have
the exact same number of children.

Draco tore his eyes away from the gimmick and laced his fingers into Granger’s hair while she
cried, inhaling her sweet jasmine and sugary scent in while gently rocking her back and forth, all
the while telling her she was going to be just fine.

This was much too far out of the scope of his job, but for some reason—Draco didn’t care one bit.

Chapter End Notes

Hello my lovely readers! Only 5 chapters until we're officially 1/3 of the way done with this
story and phew if my arms aren't tired!! I can't wait to explore more of the tags and earn each
and every one of them (especially the 'Hermione Granger has a praise kink tag' if you know
what I mean ;)

Let me know what you think of this story and please don't be shy with your comments--i love
reading each and every one of them so much!

Until next time my lovely readers,

Kristen :)
 Chapter 26
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

June 26, 2005

Hermione once again woke with the feeling that someone else had been sitting beside her but had
noticed her stirring and left before they had to face her.

She didn’t have to dig too hard in the recesses of her mind to figure out who that ‘someone’ was.

She stretched her tired and sore muscles and cried out in pain as the poison had begun to lock up
her joints and make it excruciating to raise her arms above her head.

She didn’t have to look down to see the direction the poison was taking. She could feel her heart
trying to beat it away, but it was no use. It would reach her heart in days, and then there’d be no
more reason to be upset about the things she couldn’t change.

She quickly summoned Pinky to ask for a parchment and some ink. It was time.

She’d leave Crookshanks to Harry and Ginny. He was self-sufficient and he was at Grimmauld
Place already, anyway. Her extensive book collection…she’d donate to the Ministry library. Her
flat she purchased after her Order of Merlin money filtered through, she’d leave to George,
knowing that he had tried to steal it from her before the sale was finalized.

Her most prized possessions she’d ask Malfoy nicely to fetch from her flat. She wanted to be
buried with them—the photograph of her mother and father on their wedding day, her
grandmother’s wedding ring that had been saved for her that she’d never get to use, and her worn
and annotated copy of her favorite book.

It was quite pathetic when she listed it all out like that.

It was taxing to write one’s own will and testament, especially considering the fact that Hermione
had been so stubborn that she refused to make one even when she realized the poison was killing
her.

She desperately wanted to cast a diagnostic charm on herself but didn’t have her wand, and if she
was honest with herself, she was scared to se the results.

She began to write Harry’s goodbye letter first, then had to fight to keep the tears at bay before
giving up and flinging the papers across the room.

She’d never been as scared of anything before as she was of the cold embrace of death.

“You must try not to over-exert yourself, Miss Granger.”

Hermione whipped her head to the door at the sound of the Malfoy matriarch standing before her in
lavender silk robes and a placid smile on her face, her blonde locks curled up on her head in a
perfectly coiffed updo while Hermione was sure she looked the picture of an invalid as Pinky had
left her hair down for the first time since tending to her hair for whatever reason.

“Mrs. Malfoy. I didn’t see you there.”

“No, I’m sure you didn’t. And please, call me Narcissa.”

She bent down to fetch the thrown papers and her brow furrowed in confusion then realization.

“Ah, so I see my son hasn’t given you his ‘gift’ has he?”

“I’m sorry—gift? What gift?”

Hermione was too exhausted to argue with the witch reading her personal documents. If she was
being honest with herself, she didn’t have much fight left in her at all.

The wound on her head throbbed, her muscles ached, her head swam and the poison was making its
slow and final descent to her heart.

What else did she have left to fight for, anyway?

The Death Eaters had won. She was going to die at the Malfoy estate, under lock and key, without
the love and support of her family and friends at her side.

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be giving it to you soon, no need to worry. Speaking of gifts, however…”

Narcissa Malfoy stepped toward Hermione and placed a gentle, almost motherly hand against her
forehead and, damn it all to hell, Hermione melted underneath her touch.

Tears sprung unbidden to her eyes and she realized it had been so, so long since she’d had a mother
in her life, that she was willing to borrow some affection from Draco Malfoy, of all people.

“I have something for you, dear.”

Letting go of Hermione’s forehead, Narcissa reached into a hidden pocket of her robes and
produced a simple ring, its beauty causing Hermione’s breath to catch in her throat.

“Please, Mrs. Malfoy—that is not necessary—”

“On the contrary, Mrs. Granger. I insist on only the best for my future daughter.”

“I hardly doubt it’s going to come to that, and please, if I’m dying you might as well call me
Hermione before I go. You might be one of the last people that has the pleasure of my company
before it happens.”

“Oh, I sincerely doubt my son will let anything happen to you, Hermione. He has been quite
singular in his pursuit, and I’m sure he’s told you of our longtime solution.”

“Yes, a solution that will take a year to implement. I doubt I’ll last that long.”

“Don’t you worry about the details, dear. You just worry about getting better, and we will do the
rest. It’s not often one can say they have a war heroine as a daughter.”
Hermione didn’t know how to respond to Narcissa’s show of support and warmth. Was the war
really just an act, that day in the Manor when she’d tried to call for Voldemort?

“I’m sorry, this must all be so overwhelming for you. Please, I promise the ring won’t hurt you.”

Hermione almost rolled her eyes. She was dying—what was a charmed, cursed Pureblood ring
going to do to her that hadn’t already been done?

She thrust her hand forward and Narcissa almost trilled in excitement, reaching out to place the thin
gold band around her right pointer finger and it resized itself perfectly as the cool metal seemed to
dissolve into her skin until it resembled a tattoo—a metallic, shimmering tattoo.

“What kind of magic is this?”

She didn’t mean for the wonder to seep into her tone as she asked the question—she just couldn’t
help it. Magic truly amazed her no matter her dying state.

“Elemental. It’s elemental magic infused with charms and a bit of Alchemy. There’s a matching
ring, as well, but I won’t give it to you until you’re absolutely sure of this. This ring is imbued with
emotion-detecting magic. It soaks up the aura of those in the room and helps the wearer determine
the emotional state of those around them. I hoped it would make you less wary around us—our
family. I wanted you to have it on when I looked you in the eye and apologized deeply for my
family’s involvement in any pain you received during the war. I know it would be too much to ask
that you accept my forgiveness, especially not with so much going on in your life—I only ask that
you take this offer to tie your soul to my son’s seriously—and not just because it would give our
family the light we’ve been missing for so long—but because it will quite literally save your life. I
believe it goes without saying, but our views have changed drastically, and mine have been
changing since my sister married a Muggleborn. Lucius…it took him a bit longer, but he’s since
seen the error of his ways on his clear minded days. Please, just tell me you’ll think about it?”

The hope on Narcissa’s face was too much to keep her waiting too long for her answer.

As was the genuine waves of pure and gentle love that tasted sweet to Hermione, like honey on her
tastebuds. The ring made Hermione taste emotions. How strange.

“I’ve already made my decision, Narcissa. If there is any possible way to save my life, I will take it.
And from the kindness your son has shown me thus far in protecting me, I know that we could have
a pleasant future, though I’m not sure how this is going to play out in the slightest. I’m not sure
how any of this is supposed to work, considering at the rate I’m going, I can’t last another week at
the most. I’ll do whatever it takes to stay alive, including this binding ritual with Mal—with Draco.
I’m just not sure how happy he’s going to be that his job has taken away his choice at happiness.”

“Oh, Hermione. I feel that you two both have such similar concerns that there should be no reason
to worry in that department.”

“What does that mean?”

“You both do not want the other to suffer because of this ritual—don’t you think that means that
because you both care enough about the other’s future happiness, that you’ll both also be willing to
ensure said happiness in a future marriage as well?”
“I feel like that’s easier said than done, unfortunately. I do have quite the temper and he—well, let’s
just say most of our conversations end in arguments.”

“Or with you asleep in his arms?”

Hermione whirled on the mother of the man who had, in fact, been holding her in his arms while
she slept after a particularly embarrassing panic attack.

“I—he had just—I didn’t—”

“Don’t worry, Hermione, I didn’t eavesdrop, only came by to inform my son of a particularly
important summons that he’d been ignoring by the Ministry.”

Narcissa’s mischief tasted like strawberry hard-candy. It reminded Hermione of her childhood
sneaking away snacks from her dentist parents that would’ve taken them from her had they known
what she’d smuggled into their house.

Her own sorrow at their absence was cruel and tasted of bittersweet dark chocolate. She was
beginning to resent the ring on her finger, but couldn’t for the life of her figure out how to take it
off.

“Is everything alright?”

“Oh, yes. According to him, you’ll be able to integrate back into normal society after this week.
Once you’re off bedrest, of course.”

“So, they’ve done it. They got the Death Eaters to give up where the rest of them have been
hiding?”

“Something like that. Oh and I heard Miss Parkinson was of great significance to the operation.
You’ll be able to come out of hiding soon, dear, and once Draco gives you his ‘gift’, you’ll be
strong enough to begin the rituals. Of course, we won’t be able to rush things, but the more rituals
we perform now, the stronger your magic will become as it starts to be fueled with the Malfoy and
Black family magic.”

“I will get magic from both family lines, then? And I still don’t have a full detailed list of the rituals
—and I also wasn’t aware the rituals would strengthen me so early. I was under the impression I
would…”

“Die before anything started to take effect?”

“Essentially, yes.”

She hated speaking so cavalierly about her own death, but when it was staring her in the face it was
hard not to.

Narcissa leaned against the bed and took Hermione’s hands in her own.

“The more rituals we begin with, the better. I’ll make sure to get you the book that lists all of them.
There will be eighteen in total, to represent the sacred numerology of Divination, Wizarding
Astrology and Arithmancy. Those that believe such lore point to the creator of all magic as the
Mother, who had eighteen children to spread her magic across the stars to only her most devoted of
followers. Most Pureblood families believe that Muggles weren’t devoted enough to the Mother,
and therefore fell out of favor with her. Muggleborns to them made no sense, so they believe that
Muggleborns stole the magic from rightful wizards and witches, which resulted in Squibs from
powerful families. They are ashamed at their own ineptitude and devotion to the Mother, so they try
to place the blame elsewhere to assuage them of that guilt which robbed them from a powerful
wizard child. All that fear and anger and pain—it stems from their own lack of self assessment and
guilt.”

“I’ve never heard the story of the Mother before, not in any of my readings.”

“That’s because we Purebloods keep everything under lock and key. Parts of the religion lend itself
to the fairies of Merlin’s Craig—“

Narcissa was cut off by Hermione’s sharp gasp.

“The…the elemental magics of Merlin’s Craig? You’re…you’re sure?”

“Quite sure. Are you familiar with that magic? There aren’t many wizards alive who can say they
know of it.”

The very same magic Hermione used to steal other wizard’s magic?

“Yes. Yes, I’ve…I’ve heard of it.”

Narcissa seemed impressed with this information, which burst across the back of Hermione’s
tongue with citrusy orange tang.

“I’d love to speak with you about it some time—”

Her body seemed to shudder before turning her head and then pulled her hands from Hermione’s
and stood swiftly.

“But it will have to wait another day, I’m afraid. My son’s just arrived and I’m sure he has much to
say to you in regards to what’s occurred at the Ministry in the absence of the both of you. I’ll let
you have your rest before he comes to bother you, don’t worry. I’ll have those books sent over as
well. Please, try to get some rest. Oh, and I do love what you’ve been doing with your hair.”

With a wink and a sashay out the door, Narcissa Malfoy was gone—as was Hermione’s reluctance
to shackle herself to Draco Malfoy for all eternity.

With a mother-in-law like Narcissa, she mused that his mother might just make it all worth it in the
end.

***

Draco had ignored the owl for as long as he could without it waking up Granger at his side.

He’d reluctantly pulled away from her and snatched the missive from the owl’s leg, feeding it a
treat he summoned from the kitchens as the interruption wasn’t the bird’s fault, after all, and
scowled deeply at the note in his hand.
Striding to the hallway, Draco started to Apparate to the Manor to find his mother when he caught a
whiff of her expensive perfume and saw that she was waiting patiently in her seat at the dining
table at the bottom of the stairs and rolled his eyes at his mother’s well-meaning but also busybody
ways.

“Since you’re already here, I need you to stay and watch over Hermione. I won’t be gone long; the
Ministry is calling me back for an interrogation. You will protect her? The wards keep father out,
and everyone else except us and Pinky. The Floo is locked to anyone and everyone. I’m not even
using it to get to the Ministry. You will send Pinky to find me if anything goes wrong—if you even
detect a hint of danger, do you promise to—”

“Draco—stop. I wasn’t an invalid at your father’s side, fighting for our freedom after the tides
turned at the final battle when the dark turned against us after they realized I lied about the Potter
boy being alive. I will protect her with my life, and do as you asked. Besides—no one can get past
our blood wards, you made sure of that. She is the safest she will ever be on these grounds, in this
cottage. Relax.”

“Thank you mother. I shouldn’t be gone long.”

“Be safe, son. If they’re using V to interrogate you, you’ll need to be crafty with your responses.”

“How did you—”

“It’s like you said, sweet son of mine. I am a snooping busybody, after all.”

She winked at Draco before he shook his head and turned to leave the grounds to Apparate to the
Ministry.

***

The Ministry was in complete and total disarray.

The moment Draco entered the building, he was met with not just swarms of press, but civilians as
well who’d noticed him on the walk in and they all demanded to know one thing: where was
Hermione Granger—and what had he done with her? Done to her?

Entering the lifts to reach the DMLE, he was accosted for keeping the Golden Girl away from her
friends and family during this difficult time. He sneered at them and they shrunk back to damn near
piss themselves.

What was their name again? Dan Thomas? Dick? Yes, Dick Thomas seemed about right after he
called Draco ‘Death Eater scum’.

Draco rolled his eyes.

If only he knew.

The moment the doors to the DMLE opened, however, a pair of blue eyes and a pair of green eyes
met his and Draco groaned inwardly, desperate to get all this over with so he could get back to
Granger, help her siphon the magic out of Voldemort’s executioner, and figure out how the fuck to
nurse her back to health when she clearly couldn’t stand his guts.

There was an intrinsic part of Draco that felt as if he’d left a piece of himself behind at the
Aquarius Cottage—that felt like somehow, she’d stolen it and he wouldn’t be getting it back
anytime soon.

“Malfoy!”

The ginger one sprinted forward and was about to grab Draco by the front of his pristine all-black
robes, but the bespectacled boy-wonder grabbed him just in time.

“Cam down, Ron. She’s not here with him, Robards called him in, I already told you this.”

“So he just left her there, all alone, with no protection? Pretty sure his mum’s already torturing her
on the floor of their parlor already!”

Draco’s blood coiled and he drew up to his full height, dropping his feigned nonchalance at the
weasel’s blatant ignorance and foolish angry pride.

“Say one word about my mother again, Weasel, and you won’t want to see how this ends. You’re
lucky I’m not already plucking your bucked teeth out one by one after the stunt you pulled with the
Prophet. You do not want to push your luck.”

“Oh, like I’m so scared of your threats after Hermione punched you in Third Year and you ran
crying like a coward. That’s all you were and all you’ve ever been—”

“I said, that’s enough Ron! If you can’t hold in your anger, then leave! You’re not invited to this
meeting!”

“I don’t know what your sick family has done to Hermione, but she shouldn’t be staying in the
same place she was tortured, you fucking Death Eater!”

The entire department went still and quiet, the words ‘Death Eater’ echoing and ricocheting all
across the floor like a sickening curse that refused to wash itself off the stain of Draco’s soul.

The mark on his arm tingled and burned lightly as Draco tensed, preparing to unleash his full fury
on the weasel, but Potter stood in front of him before he could get it out. Fucking Potter—at least
he could say he was a good friend to Granger, unlike the ginger git.

“I’ll take your wand for that, Ron. You know how much Malfoy has helped this department, and as
much as you dislike him from Hogwarts, you can’t go through life holding a petty grudge for a
childhood rivalry. There is no one else I trust to watch over Hermione, aside from myself, than
Malfoy. Everyone understand?”

Draco saw the importance of having the Chosen One defend him in front of the entire department
like that. Fuck, now he owed boy-wonder for that. He hated owing anyone anything.

“Potter! Malfoy! My office—now! What’s everyone doing out here—standing and not doing their
jobs? There are people to protect and raids to plan! Get to work!”

The hustle and bustle of the department started back up again as everyone returned to their duties,
but the ginger glanced back at Draco once more.
“This isn’t over. And I swear to Merlin if you’ve harmed a hair on Hermione’s head—I will kill
you myself.”

“Won’t have to. If I hurt her, she’d be the first to hex my balls off. And you should know that—
being her best friend and all. Oh, wait. Sorry—you’ve probably lost that title after everything
you’ve done to hurt her. Guess that slot’s taken by both the Potter’s now, considering the she-
weasel took her husband’s last name.”

“Malfoy, come on. And don’t call my wife ‘she-weasel’. It’s weird.”

Weasley was about to retort something vitriolic but Draco sidestepped him and strode for Robards
office to his interrogation.

His boss stared at him from across his desk with a pointed frown.

“Care to tell me why you conveniently forgot to mention you were impervious to the effects of
Veritaserum? And that there was a more potent version of it available, and refused to share that
until only recently?”

“Slipped my mind, sir. There were so many things in development on the side of the dark that I had
no reason to believe that Voldemort had ordered the experiments to be common knowledge
amongst those not in the Inner Circle, and with most of the Inner Circle dead or captured I
prioritized what I believed to be relevant to the Ministry at the time.”

“You do realize what we need from you then, don’t you?”

Draco sighed.

“Yes, boss. Do you have it on you? I could take it right now.”

“As much as I’d like a straight answer from you right now, these things are highly regulated.
Before questioning a Ministry employee, the new Veritaserum, or ‘V’ will need to be rigorously
tested, and then you’ll be given a time and place for a probationary hearing—which is public
knowledge, mind you—and you’ll be given the list of questions asked before the hearing itself. It’ll
be very standard and commonplace, but Malfoy—if you step another toe out of line, you’re off
Granger’s case, and Potter is going to take over. Do you understand what that means?”

“Yes, sir. I am aware. However—there is something I should discuss with you—in private, if
possible.”

Draco’s eyes flicked to Potter’s, who’s own eyes were scrunching up in confusion and intrigue.

“Potter is second-in-command. Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of him.

Draco cleared his throat.

“Very well. As I’m sure you’re both aware, Hermione Granger is dying, from a poison inflicted
upon her by my mentally ill aunt during the war. My family, and my family only, has the cure. If
something were to happen and I am pulled off her case, I am still going to need…access to her in
order to help save her life, which is the entire basis of this job given to me by you, sir.”

Potter stiffened in his chair and turned to Draco, eyes wide behind his smudged glasses.
“You’re—you’re serious? You have a cure? Don’t bullshit me Malfoy. What is it? What’s the
cure?”

“The poison from the blade was created with Black blood, along with multiple different intricate
spells using Arithmancy, charms work, and Alchemy. My aunt detailed the process in a journal
found in our library. We’ve been searching for a cure ever since I pried the information out of
Granger when she came to be on bedrest. My mother’s side of the family was the cause, therefore
—my mother’s side of the family will be the cure.”

“And what, exactly, does that mean, Mr. Malfoy? We don’t have all day here.”

Draco sighed and weighed what he could and couldn’t tell the two people before him, especially
considering he didn’t know what the questions for the trial would be.

‘Have you ever lied to your boss’ could very well be on there.

“It is a very sacred, very private, binding ritual used in Pureblood families for centuries. Granger’s
blood will be filtered of the poison once blood and magic of the House of Black runs through her
veins.”

Robards flinched and sucked in a sharp breath of air, eyes widening as he regarded Malfoy with
something that seemed like astonishment and tepid admiration.

“And you—you’d go that far to save her life?”

“It is what I owe her, after what happened.”

After he stood by and watched.

“I’m sorry—I don’t understand. What does this mean exactly? She’ll have different blood and
magic running through her veins? What ritual?”

Though not apart of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, Robards was a Pureblood, and knew the ritual
through reputation alone. Potter, however, knew nothing of the sort.

“I’m going to bind my magic with Granger’s, Potter.”

“I—but—but what does that even mean?”

“It was her decision. She’s been researching it ever since she learned it was the only option. She’s
been searching on her own for a cure for seven years, and all she got was a temporary solution.
This way, she’ll live a very long, very healthy life.”

“Binding your magic though—what does that do? Will her magic be lessened?”

Draco barked out a laugh as Robards answered for him.

“Far from it, Harry. Hermione is—well, she’s receiving a gift of the highest honor from the Malfoy
and Black families in the form of the strengthening of her magic by combining it with ancestral
magic. And you’ve both discussed this, and she’s accepted?”

“Granger is fully aware of what this all entails, and she’s accepted. We both agreed—anything to
keep her alive.”
Potter went quiet and speculative in his seat beside him, but Robards plowed on ahead.

“I feel I might’ve misjudged you, Mr. Malfoy, considering how far you’re willing to go for her life,
and for this job. I’ll make sure to put a good word in with you for the hearing. Now, onto the raids.
Thanks to Miss Parkinson, we were able to obtain her uncle and his memories were searched. The
enhanced Veritaserum only had to go through one round of testing before we were authorized to
use it on proven Death Eaters and we’ve discovered three of four safe houses, and while we don’t
know the location of Greyback yet, we’re zeroing in. We don’t even really have to nail Greyback to
bring Granger back into the fold—once she’s recovered, of course. Once this weekend’s raids are
completed, if they go off as planned, we’ll finally be through will al this mess and be able to move
forward as a society.”

“What do you need from me?”

“To stay with Granger and move forward with the binding.”

“Keep this confidential, please. We don’t need anymore attention on Granger in the press, and we
don’t need any leaks.”

“What—well I’m obviously not going to say anything! I still don’t even know what this bloody
ritual does except to ‘strengthen Hermione’s magic with ancestral magic’ whatever that means.”

Draco sighed at Potter’s ignorance and raised his eyebrows at Robards.

“I’ll fill him in when we’re done here,” was all their boss said on the matter.

“Perfect. Now, may I go? I have a witch to protect, and all.”

Potter rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything on the contrary.

“You’re dismissed Malfoy, but if all goes well, you’re going to be switching off with Potter. I’m
assuming she’ll continue to stay with you once she needs to come out of hiding and is still on
bedrest?”

“Yes,” Draco said at the same time that Potter asked aloud, “Why would she stay with Malfoy and
not go back to her flat?”

Robards sighed into his hands.

“This is going to be a long conversation.”

“Swear him to remain silent. I mean it—he won’t be able to keep this from Weasley, and he’s
already a behavioral problem for this department. I’d hate to have to put him in his place.”

“Is that a threat on a Ministry employee, Malfoy?”

“No, sir. Only a promise to defend myself against baseless accusations and unprovoked outbursts of
violence in this very department. You’d think you want your Aurors to be more level headed.”

Draco stood just as Potter began stammering to Robards about ‘what the hell was that about’ and
Draco only heard his boss’ words dismissing him and beginning to explain the severity of the
situation to Potter as he left the room.
He had a witch to get to, and a few rituals to begin.

But first—Granger was in dire need of a gift.

***

Harry Potter sat across from his boss of the past seven years with fire burning behind his eyes.

“What the bloody hell was Malfoy talking about, sir? What is a binding ritual, and why does
Hermione need to perform one in order to get better?”

“I don’t have a lot of time Potter, so I’m going to make this quick. We don’t know much about this
poison LeStrange made, but Malfoy determined she used blood magic to make it. Therefore, only
someone of her blood would be immune to it. Or—someone keyed into the blood of her family and
in possession of the ancestral line of magic of her family. The only way to have that link is to either
be born in the House of Black, or to be bonded to someone of that family. To be bonded…in
Pureblood circles, it is the highest of honors, and the most sacred form of devotion to another that a
couple can have. I had assumed the Malfoy’s were still using the tradition but didn’t have any proof
until today. Malfoy is willing to bind his very soul to Hermione Granger’s for eternity to save her
life. To give up lifelong happiness with another to save her life is truly selfless, and just proved to
me that I made the right choice to have him protecting her. Of course, no one else knew about the
poison and his family connection that will ultimately save her life is a coincidence, but if I hadn’t
placed her with Malfoy like you’d asked, she would still be dying without a cure in sight.”

“So, sir, if I’m understanding this right—they’re going to perform blood magic to create a soul
bond?”

“That’s exactly right. I assume there’ll be a marriage announcement soon enough, considering the
marriage is the last step at the end of one calendar year. They haven’t even been shown together
publicly yet, so I assume you’ll be seeing something soon, although—”

“I’m sorry, sir. I’m confused. Did you say marriage?”

“Well of course I did, Potter. What else do you think ‘soul bond’ means? They’re going to be
connected in every possible way a couple can be connected, and then further into the afterlife. One
won’t die without the other. They’ll never be apart, and they’ll both be stronger than ever. I’ll have
to think about switching up her detail once they’re married, though. That might cause a human
relations scandal to have them working together like that.”

“Malfoy and—and Hermione are going to be married?”

“Oh, Malfoy was right. Alright, we’re going to need to swear you to secrecy. Alright, now Potter.
Grab your wand and repeat after me.

“Malfoy—Hermione—married—”

***
Hermione asked Pinky to help her to the bathroom and let her help her dress out of her night
clothes into comfortable lounge clothes and smiled when she pulled half of Hermione’s hair into a
brain that twisted from one side of her head to the other while she left the rest wild and down, using
a jasmine scented oil to tease out and define some of the curls.

After ushering her to the bed, Pinky fed Hermione a meal of soft cheeses and vibrant fruits and
warm bread.

She was just about to break into the books Narcissa had sent over after ignoring the question of
where Malfoy had gone off to when he answered her question by appearing in her doorway.

His cheeks were pink and his hair windswept, as if he’d just spent the last few hours riding on a
broom. Perhaps he had, Hermione wasn’t sure.

What she was sure of, however, was that she suddenly felt a surge of attraction flare across her
tongue in the form of a warm, deep and full red wine, the sensation of the drink washing through
her mouth as if she’d just taken a real sip of a bottle far too expensive for her own tastes.

The worst part was that she wasn’t sure where the attraction had come from—herself, or from the
ring detecting Malfoy’s emotions.

“You’re in better spirits I see. Covered in books, like always.”

“There are only so many ways an invalid can entertain herself—and research always helps to
prepare one in the face of certain death.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing no one in my family is going to let you die—least of all me.”

“I don’t think this binding ritual is going to work on someone as weak as me, though. I can hardly
walk, let alone cast a wandless spell. I’ve accepted it. I’m dying, and we can’t fix it, no matter what
you or your mother says.”

“Well, then. I can’t change your mind. Fine. But I do have something that might lighten your
spirits. It’s waiting for you in the dungeons.”

“A surprise to ‘lighten my spirits’ is in the dungeon? Should I be worried?”

Malfoy flashed her a wolfish smile and she was overcome with lavender dancing through her
nostrils. She faltered at the sight of his full bodied smile, unaware that Draco Malfoy had a dimple
in his right cheek and that his teeth were so white and perfectly straight and—and oh, gods, she was
staring, wasn’t she?

“Oh, you should be very, very worried, Granger.”

And then he winked at her.

She suddenly knew exactly where the red-wine attraction came from as it tingled on her lips, the
magic from the ring on her finger more prevalent and complex than she’d originally thought.

“Well, then. I’ve been stuck in this bed far too long. What are we waiting for?”
 She was dying anyway—she should at least get some fun out of it, right?

Chapter End Notes

Hello my lovely readers! Sorry for the slight delay--birthdays and sickness and pre-school
graduations, oh my!

Updates will continue as normally scheduled, 3 times a week or more! Projections with my
word-count app put this story ending at or around early-late August, which is much sooner
than my November finish time, so we'll see if I can keep up this pace!

I hope you're all enjoying this story as I'm loving writing it! Part 1 is officially over, and now
we're on to part 2! Let me know what you all think of this story so far!

Until next time my lovely readers,

Kristen :)
 Chapter 27
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

PART II

June 26, 2005

“So, these are the dungeons.”

“It certainly lives up to the name.”

And they did, Hermione noted with a wrinkle to her nose at the dank smell that seemed to permeate
through the stone walls and exacerbate the poison crawling through her veins.

“Is this where Ron and Harry were kept, when…”

She trailed off, unable to finish the question, but Malfoy understood what she couldn’t put into
words.

“Yes.”

She could still hear the echoes of their screams bouncing off her own.

Malfoy was suddenly at her back, his breath stirring the fine hairs on the back of her neck and
causing them to raise, like hackles on a wolf.

“Aperta.”

His voice breathed chills to life along her neck and she shuddered at his closeness, his warmth
radiating through her back, but all of that was cleared from the haze in her mind when the stone
walls in front of them parted and Hermione involuntarily pressed herself back against Malfoy’s
front, his muscled chest molding into her frame like it was made to fit there.

“What in Merlin’s name…”

Sitting in a circle of salt and locked into a cell sat Walden Macnair, rotting away in his own waste.

“I did say I got you a present.”

She turned to her left and found a table with all of her belongings needed to perform the ceremony.

“How did you—”

“I have my ways. Now, are you strong enough to do this, or do we need to wait until you’re on your
death bed before we try this?”
Malfoy was close, too close. His scent invaded her mind and she sucked in a lungful of air only to
find it rattled her chest, her mind swimming while her body melted into his own.

“No. No, I can do this, it’s just—I thought you didn’t like the fact that I was ‘playing god’ with
other wizard’s magic. What changed?”

“If this is the only thing keeping you alive right now, I wouldn’t care if you siphoned the magic out
of half the entire wizarding community of Britain. Does that answer your question?”

His honesty bubbled on her tongue like tasteless, cool water.

“Yes, I suppose it does. Well, should we get started?”

***

Draco was absolutely astounded by the woman in front of him, magic swirling her up into the air
on a created wind with no malice in her eyes—only pure, unadulterated power flowing through her
veins.

Her wild toffee curls swam around her head in a halo of silk as she spoke a chant in a language
Draco himself did not know or understand, but the lilt to her voice was mesmerizing and musical,
her voice melodious and pure—a balm to his soul.

Macnair writhed in pain in the cell as the magic was siphoned from his body, and as the last dregs
of it were sapped from his body he fell forward—limp, dull and half lifeless. Draco would finish
him off before long.

If Granger didn’t want the honors herself, that is.

She was lowered gracefully to the ground, her eyes an eerie, shining green the same shade as the
emerald set in the family engagement ring he’d be giving to her sooner rather than later. He
assumed it was only fitting, considering the shade of the magic she was stealing, that he give her
emeralds to match.

She stood stoic and silent for a moment as if to catch her breath, and her coloring was slowly but
surely coming back to her, even in the dull lighting of the dungeons.

Her cheeks grew pink and flushed, her hollowed eyes burning bright and energized. Her hair, once
brittle and lifeless, turned silky soft before his eyes as she inhaled deep and rolled her neck on her
shoulders, something predatory in the gaze that she pinned on him.

“Do you have any idea the kind of magic you just unleashed upon me, Malfoy?”

There was no disguising the anger in her tone, the accusatory confrontation in her stance, and fuck
if it didn’t make Draco feel like an animal for how it sent a shockwave of desire straight to a pit in
his stomach.

“The kind of magic that is going to save your life while we work on a permanent cure, I’m
assuming.”
Her lip curled up into a sneer as she stood tall and walked toward him, but Draco held his ground.
For now.

“Hundreds of killing curses, thousands of Crucio’s. Did you know the executioner liked to play
with his prey before ending them? He liked to hear their screams before he cut their heads off or
cast a final curse on them.”

There was hollow power in her eyes, glowing green and lethal, like her entire being had sucked
down all the dark magic and had allowed for it to corrupt the pure bleeding heart Gryffindor
bullshit that usually flowed through her.

Like it had pierced right through her soul and debased her conscience.

“Granger, you’re not yourself—”

She slammed her hands into his shoulders and his back hit the stone wall behind him.

“Of course I’m not myself, Malfoy. I’m him right now. I’m every single piece of dark magic he’s
ever cast in his entire life, and it’s swimming throughout my veins, and it’s all because of you!”

“Because of me? Right, excuse me for saving your fucking life.”

“For how much of a burden it’s seemingly become, I’m surprised you’re even still trying to find a
life to save.”

“This is the magic talking, Granger. You’ll go back to normal soon enough.”

Her laugh was lifeless and she moulded her body to his, staring up at him with her irises glowing
green, a neon he’d only seen from the other end of a wand after a powerful Avada.

“Normal. Right. Will it be normal when all this is over and Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy
are married? Does that seen normal to you?”

Draco swallowed thickly and wondered if the effects of this dark magic would make her say the
things she’d concealed from not only him, but herself as well.

He didn’t want to know if was the truth or if they were lies about to come out of her mouth.

He knew she loathed the idea of being married to him. He didn’t need to hear it verbatim from her
mouth.

“It doesn’t matter what other people think—or that it’s not normal. What’s important is that it will
save your life. Now if you would just calm down—”

“This is all your fault, you know—and now you want to shackle yourself to me forever out of guilt?
I don’t think so.”

Draco brought a hand to his face to scrub it down his eyes, nose, mouth. Exasperation leaked from
his pores as he stared down his nose at the witch in front of him practically crackling with dark
magic.

No wonder it halted the poison in her veins—it had enough darkness to feast upon that it didn’t feel
the need to try and reach out to her heart to end her.
“Think again, Granger. That might have been why it started but it’s not about that anymore.”

It was true—he’d taken the job out of guilt for what his aunt had done to her. He’d also stayed on
and agreed to the binding because he was—quite literally—the only one who could help her in this
regard.

He was the last House of Black descendant left alive, and only the blood from said house would
keep her alive.

But now? Were his priorities suddenly shifted, so soon? Before a single ritual had even been
completed, before their feelings had become tampered with, skewed towards the other person in the
bond to ensure mutual happiness when all was said and done?

“Why is it then? Because I’m just some job to you? Keep the ‘Golden Girl’ alive to keep your
image intact?”

Draco snapped suddenly, a band pulled too taut as his anger finally got the best of him. It didn’t
matter that she likely wasn’t in her right mind.

None of it mattered—none of it. Except her.

His hand surged forward and captured her chin to keep her eyes on him—he couldn’t have her
looking away for this.

“That’s never been who you are to me. You’ll always be more—so much fucking more—no matter
how much you try to deny it.”

His words seemed to take her back, and some of the dark shadows slithered back into the darkness
as the pulsing power retracted from her eyes, but there was still that anger—roiling and deep in her
body that Draco had to deal with.

“And what is that supposed to mean? You can’t honestly sit here and tell me this isn’t about you
trying to make up for the fact that it was your aunt that did this to me in the first place.”

“Just like I already fucking told you, Granger, that was how it started. But it’s not what this is about
anymore.”

Her lip curled but he kept her steady in his hand.

“Oh yeah? And why is that?”

Draco’s eyes darkened as her energy shifted, and he only wasted one second on breathing in the
deep scent of her jasmine hair before placing his full weight on her and spinning them around until
she was anchored against the wall and he had full control of her once more.

“I already told you, Granger—it’s not my fault you’ve got dark magic clogging up your ears.”

“Fuck you, Malfoy.”

Draco adopted his familiar sneer and quirked his lips to the side in a mocking smile.

“Drop the attitude, Granger, or I’ll do it for you.”

“Oh? And how exactly do you think you’re going to do that?”

Draco tilted her head back using his hand that was still gripping her chin, angling her so that her
eyes were on the ceiling instead of his own.

Leaning down, he trailed his lips as close to the skin of her neck as he dared without touching, a
pulsing throb dancing between their bodies as Draco tried desperately to ignore the aching thrum in
his chest begging him to take her right there against the wall, just to teach her a lesson.

He chuckled in her ear as she pulled in a desperate breath.

“I don’t hear you harping anymore—are you going to be a good girl and listen to me now?”

She tried to rebel against his hand at that but he kept his grip firm, bringing his other hand up as
well to wrap his lithe fingers along the smooth, pale column of her throat.

Her entire body locked up at the action and a sick part of him was instantly thrilled at that new
development.

Of course she bloody liked it.

Granger had probably never let herself give up control a single moment in her entire life, and he
was taking it from her while she willingly surrendered to him.

Her chest heaved in exquisite pants, her jasmine scent curling around him as he swallowed down a
snarl of lust that threatened to rip itself from his chest. He slowed his breathing, however, and kept
his motions slow, steady.

“That’s what I thought,” he told her as she remained quiet, melting underneath his touch and his
ministrations.

“Now, here’s what you’re going to do. You are going to stay here until you’re calmed down, and
then you’ll allow me to carry you back to your room and then I’ll return here to clean up the mess
you’ve made. Do you understand?”

Some of her attitude returned at his mocking words.

“I am not a child, Malfoy, so don’t speak to me as if I am one. And you are not carrying me—”

“What did I say about that fucking attitude, Granger?”

She gasped on a hitched inhale as Draco’s hand fluttered on her throat, her eyes meeting his and
turning molten as the green finally faded and her gaze was suddenly amber and milk chocolate
once more, though filled with desire as intense as the throbbing need nestled within his own body.

“Ah, there she is. Now, are you going to be good now that the dark magic’s faded, or do you need
another lesson in how to listen to me?”

She blinked a few times like clearing her gaze, and trepidation swam in her eyes before she began
stammering.

“I—well, yes I…I’ll be…”

He quirked his eyebrow and tilted his head awaiting her answer, a mocking lilt to the action.

“Hm, what was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

He knew he was playing with her, but he just couldn’t help it. This was a new side to her he’d never
seen—an area he had experience where she most likely had none if the relationship with Weasley
was anything to go by.

This was something that gave him the upper hand over her, and made it abundantly clear just how
attracted she was to him, and it evened the playing field as he suffered from even a single glance in
his direction from her honeycomb eyes.

“I’m calm now. I’m sorry—when I absorb that much dark magic, it can sometimes take over and
make me do or say things out of character. I wasn’t trying to insult you—thank you for helping
me.”

“Anytime, Granger.”

His voice grew husky as he withdrew his hand from her chin but kept his other hand against her
neck, caressing his fingers along the silkiness of her skin as he took in her features in the flickering
lantern light of the dungeons.

She seemed to glow as if from within after the surge of energy that had filled her up, but it was like
the blast of dark magic that she’d absorbed was taking its toll on her, and quickly.

He didn’t give her a chance to protest as he slipped his hands under her and scooped her up in his
arms.

“Why is it that you always end up in my arms, Granger?”

She bucked a few times in his hold until she regained her center of gravity and locked her hands
around his neck.

“I could ask you the same thing, Malfoy.”

“Maybe I just prefer you where I can keep an eye on you at all times.”

“Control freak,” she muttered beneath her breath but Draco only chuckled darkly and adjusted his
hands to that his fingers were brushing up against the seam of her thighs as she squirmed in his
hold from the touch.

“And you love it.”

The proof of it was in the hitch of her breath and the tightening of her hands around his neck.

He smirked.

Oh yeah. She fucking loved it, alright.

Her head drooped against his chest even though he could tell she was clearly fighting it. The ritual
had clearly taken a bit of energy out of her, but at least it had also rejuvenated her and slowed the
crawl of the poison in her veins.
By his calculations, she would need one siphoning a week for the poison to be completely slowed
until the year was up, but with the binding rituals they would do, her magic would strengthen and
hopefully the poison would recoil as her blood slowly mingled with that of the House of Black and
would keep her healthy and safe until the ritual was finalized on their wedding day.

Fuck.

He was going to marry Hermione Granger, that much was made even more glaringly obvious as he
noticed the glittering ring on her finger, golden in the lamplight of the tunnels.

It would be invisible to anyone aside from him, just as his ring would be to her.

He reached her room as they both remained silent, laying her down in her bed only to find her eyes
were already shut.

He leaned toward her bedside table for the salve of Dittany and applied it to the brutal scar on her
arm that was only slightly festering.

Upon the application of the salve, the festering did not return as it had the first time he’d given it to
her. It was like the siphoning had helped the decay of her arm, as well, thankfully.

Draco reached forward to move the hair off of her forehead and in her sleep she held a hand out to
him, grasping for something—or someone—to hold onto.

He couldn’t deny her this.

Clasping her hand in his, he leaned forward to place his lips at her temple, breathing in her scent for
as long as propriety would allow.

“Is she sleeping, then?”

Draco startled slightly at his mother’s voice, but released Granger’s hand reluctantly and turned to
leave the room to speak in private.

“Yes,” Draco said as he shut the door behind him.

“You’ll be needing this, I assume.”

Draco held his hand out to catch the ring his mother placed in his palm and slipped it on his finger,
shuddering as it sunk into his skin and disappeared. Only Granger would be able to see it now.

“Thank you, mother. The gift exchange will have to happen tomorrow, if we’re to make the first
ritual by the full moon.”

“Are you sure you’ll be ready for that?”

Draco dared a glance back to the closed door behind him, where the witch he was destined for slept
soundly. He would do anything to keep her safe—to keep her alive.

To make her happy.

The first step was to make sure she lived in order to have that happiness.
 “We’ll have to be.”

Chapter End Notes

Hello my lovely readers!

This story is my escape and a way for me to break out of my writer's block for the stories that I
write on Wattpad for their creator's program and for me to channel my creativity in an
environment and fandom that I haven't been able to stop consuming since I stumbled across it
a little over a year ago, and the reception I've received from it is overwhelmingly beautiful!

If you're interested in reading DracoxHermione coded characters in contemporary enemies to

lovers angsty romance books as well, I'll link my linktree down below to other stories I've
written on my public Wattpad profile if that's something you're interested in while this WIP is
still updating!

I live for your comments, so please let me know what you've thought about this chapter and
what you look forward to in the future from it!

Until next time my lovely readers,

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 Chapter 28
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

June 27th, 2005

Narcissa Malfoy smiled daintily behind her cup of tea as Lucius Malfoy shifted uncomfortably in
his chair, the both of them dressed impeccably while Hermione felt as if she were wearing a burlap
sack in the presence of royalty.

At least Narcissa’s smile was genuine, and she tasted no emotions resembling hate yet, Hermione
relying on the powers of the ring more than she thought she would have.

“The flowers are absolutely lovely, Hermione,” Narcissa began, stroking the stem of the Narcissus
flower that Hermione had grown up calling a Daffodil while Lucius stared at his magically
bespelled Lily to never wilt on the table as if it had claws and would slice him open if he so dared
to touch it.

“Oh, I’m glad you liked them.”

“Of course, dear. Here, my gift to you is a crystal imbued with healing powers given to me by a
witch from Northern Scotland, near Merlin’s Craig.”

Her eyebrows went up and Hermione stilled at the meaningful lilt to her voice.

The crystal was given to her by someone who was well versed in the dangerous magics of the
fairies that had given Hermione a way to steal magic, and Narcissa was outwardly reluctant to
make that known in front of her husband, it seemed.

“Thank you,” Hermione said as she took the crystal from the older witch’s hand, Malfoy stoic as a
statue at her side as he eyed breakfast with one disdainful eyebrow raised as if offended by the
poached eggs and scones and fruit displayed before him.

Hermione only had a moment to glance at the pale yellow stone before Lucius Malfoy ripped his
hand from underneath the table to present Hermione with a dark green rock.

“Here, Miss Granger. This stone represents love and happiness, two things I hope you and my son
find together in your lives.”

Her eyebrows shot up her forehead as she leaned forward to take the stone from her soon-to-be
father-in-law.

“T-thank you, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Oh, please, Hermione. You can call him Lucius, you know.”

Hermione cringed at Narcissa’s words. No, she would definitely only call him by his first name in
her head.
She didn’t even call Draco—Malfoy—by his first name.

Yet.

Would they grow to call each other by such informalities, like his parents that sat before her?

She thought of earlier that morning when he’d come by her room with a brisk tone and instructed
her to follow him to the garden, which she’d done so after freshening up with Pinky’s help, and had
picked out the flowers she needed to present to his parents as the official beginning to the rites for
the binding ritual.

They sat at the small table in the cottage with Pinky to Hermione’s left and Malfoy to her right.

She found it comforting to have the elf by her side eating along with the rest of them, as her
presence gave her a sense of familiarity the rest of the family didn’t give her.

“The first ritual, Hermione dear, will happen the day after you’re officially off bedrest. Do you
think you’ll be in stronger spirits in three days time?”

She really didn’t have to stay on ‘bedrest’ any longer, considering the siphoning had healed the rest
of her wounds on her head that remained from the explosion, but she assumed it made Malfoy feel
better that he didn’t have to chase her around the Ministry while the Death Eaters were still on the
loose.

She needed to remember to ask him about the case and if they’d caught all who were responsible,
but considering the fact that she was staring death in the face daily because of the poison, she
wasn’t sure she had anymore mental capacity for those who were actively plotting her death as
well.

She could only handle so much mortal danger in a day, after all.

“I believe I’ll be able to handle it. What will this ritual entail, exactly?”

Lucius and Narcissa grew quiet while Malfoy shifted uncomfortably in his seat beside Hermione.

It was Pinky who spoke up on their behalf, her pale lavender pillowcase shifting as she took a sip
of her tea.

“Oh, I remember Mistress Narcissa and Master Lucius’ first ritual like it was just yesterday! Pinky
was only a babe at the time, but Pinky remembers her mother speaking about it with such
reverence! The full moon will charge the magics between the couple, and Pinky’s mother said it
was so romantic! Mistress Narcissa and Master Lucius couldn’t keep to themselves any longer
afterward!”

Hermione cleared her throat and felt her cheeks flush as she took in that information, knowing that
one of the rituals did, in fact, include dancing naked beneath the light of the full moon. Surely that
would happen later, right? And he’d be able to…close his eyes?

“Don’t worry, Granger. I’ll be sure to give you a manual so that you can plan out each second of the
ritual. Salazar forbid Hermione Granger not being prepared.”

“I’m sorry—would you rather we be ill prepared and miss some crucial step and it not work at all?”
Malfoy’s eyes glittered in the soft sunlight streaming through the kitchen window, his parents and
Pinky forgotten as the two stared each other down.

“Oh, it’ll work, Granger. Our magic will make sure of it.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean? We just go in blind and expect things to happen? I don’t know
about you, but I’d rather not allow my life to be treated so cavalierly, in a way that says things will
‘just happen’. I like certainties, so forgive me for wanting to be prepared.”

“Always the swot, having to over analyze every little thing.”

He must’ve assumed his words were muttered low enough for her not to hear, but she heard it,
alright.

And saw the eye roll that accompanied the words, as well.

“If you’re aware of another way to save my life, Malfoy, then I’m all ears, because clearly you’re
not as on board about this as you previously made known.”

Malfoy turned in his seat so that his thigh was pressed up against the thin cotton of the long pale
pink dress she’d donned for this very meeting with his parents that Pinky had laid out for her.

Hermione could not ignore the warmth of his body, the ocean water fragrance of his cologne, the
steeliness of his grey gaze upon her body.

She’d been given her wand back that morning, and she gripped it on the table for strength, feeling
that familiar zap of power grounding her as a shock of some kind of spice filtered through her—not
a hot spice, but something smoky and full—the taste of cinnamon that came from Malfoy’s
emotions as she realized it.

It wasn’t anger or irritation floating off of him, but passion and Hermione thought that she must’ve
gotten it wrong. He couldn’t have felt passionate about her—

“There is no other way, Granger, and even if there were, there’s no guarantee it would work in time
to save your life like this is. Regardless—there’s no going back now.”

She didn’t miss the darkness swirling in his eyes as he spoke, and the knowledge that he resented
this ‘solution’ only made Hermione want to rebel against it all—throw the flowers in the vase in the
center of the table on the ground to watch them wilt before her eyes, shatter the glasses of water in
front of her, topple the table until there was a literal manifestation of how she felt out there for all to
see.

Something in Malfoy’s steely gaze softened as the tumultuous emotions tumbled through Hermione
like the bittersweet darkness of chocolate exploding across her senses.

She peered down as all the emotions came to a stunning halt as his hand landed atop hers, cooling
everything as something warm like honey trickled through her, an all-too-familiar band of metal
encircled around Malfoy’s finger as it rested on hers.

A ring very similar to the one that had melted into her skin once she’d placed it on her finger. She
could see his ring, though. Did that mean he could see hers as well?

Did it enable him to taste her emotions, like she could with his?
“Well, if we’re interrupting something between the two of you, we could always return to this
conversation later?”

Hermione cleared her mind as she blinked from her stupor and found Malfoy’s parents staring at
the two of them with suspiciously smirking expressions on their faces, and Lucius’ words
dampened the anger that had been roiling through her.

She might’ve been poisoned, but she’d never lose the argumentative spark inside her until the day
she died.

“I’m sorry for my outburst, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy—”

“Now, Hermione, you’re almost family at this point, you can call us by our first names, isn’t that
right, Draco?”

Narcissa’s eyes sharpened on her son, but he hadn’t taken his eyes off Hermione.

He didn’t respond to his mother. It was almost like he didn’t hear her at all.

Lucius cleared his throat after standing up and placed his napkin on the table primly. His wife
followed suit, a beaming smile on her face, but still, Malfoy did not look up.

“I’ll make sure to get you those reading materials soon, Hermione. You should be able to start
preparing for the ritual tonight at the latest. I find it best to be prepared, as well,” Narcissa added
with a bite of sweet strawberry candy flavored mischief in her tone targeted towards her son.

“Of course—thank you. And thank you both for meeting with me. I realize you don’t have to help
me and I’m grateful that you are choosing to do so.”

“It is never a burden to right the wrongs done to you by our family, Hermione. You never have to
thank us—we are only doing what is right by you.”

Something twisted in her gut as Narcissa spoke, the words all too reminiscent of how she felt about
Malfoy’s motivations, even though he’d tried to clear them up the night before after her disastrous
confrontation with him.

The memory of him so close, his scent in her nose and their mingling desire tasting of smooth
sugary cherries, the fruit flavor bursting over her tongue as she ached to reach forward and lean
forward to press it against the column of his neck to see if it tasted as sweet as his lust for her.

“It will be a pleasure to have you in the family, Miss Granger. Draco,” Lucius said in parting, and
Hermione was about to respond in kind when he grabbed his wife by the elbow and Apparated
them out of the cottage, but not before Narcissa could give Hermione a wink in goodbye.

“I see your emotions in colors. How do you sense them?”

Hermione startled at Malfoy’s voice so close to her as she had been studying the spot where
Narcissa and Lucius had just departed.

Pinky edged out of her chair, and made to disappear before Hermione could tell her not to go.

“I—I can taste them.”

“Your irritation is a dark red, almost maroon. Your passion a deep pink so vibrant it tries to blind
me. Your desire a warm plum.”

He reached a hand out to grasp a twisted curl around his finger, twirling it as he leaned forward and
invaded each and every sense, his own emotions coming through in a mixture of passion and lust,
honey and lavender and watery truth all mixing until he was a myriad of things Hermione couldn’t
pinpoint at once.

“You look a bit like a rainbow right now, all those feelings swirling around in that big brain of
yours. I think my favorite color, however, is this pure golden light you give off when you look at
Pinky as she’s helping you with something, or brings you something to eat. You even shone a bit
gold at my mother, earlier. I wonder…will this bond manufacture that light for me, or will you keep
it to yourself forever?”

His hand had migrated to push fully into her hair, their bodies angled toward each other in a way
that allowed her to feel every inch of him as she opened herself up to ruin at his touch.

His fingers flexed in her hair and she gasped as he used his grip to tilt her head back to stare into
those storm cloud eyes, positive that even though he could sense everything she was feeling that he
had no idea the thoughts running rampant in her mind.

“Tell me, Granger. What would you do if I pushed you back on this table right now, and had my
way with you? Would your aura turn purple and pink, or would I finally see the color you turn
when you feel hate?”

His voice pierced through her haze of desire like shrapnel after a detonation, and she blinked
through her foggy mind while finally realizing what he was asking her.

Malfoy’s other hand drifted lower, edging up the slit of her skirt on her thigh and she held back a
whimper of need before latching her eyes on his.

“I—I don’t hate you, Malfoy. Far from it, actually.”

Her words fell from her lips in a bedraggled whisper, his hands on her body heating her up while
simultaneously sending prickles of chills all throughout her entire being.

There was a flicker in his grey eyes, the edges deepening to a cool charcoal.

A spray of sunlight came out from behind the clouds and lit up the kitchen in golden hues, lighting
up his grey eyes until they were the color of a weeping navy night, a kaleidoscope of pale blues and
grey mixing together until his eyes swirled and his emotions tasted of salty sweet watermelon and a
tinge of honey on the edges.

“You’re all yellow now—close enough to gold, but not quite.”

His voice was full of wonder and his tone reverent, his hand skating down to bracket her jaw with
his fingertips as his other hand trailed a path up her thigh until she was shaking in his grip,
trembling and wanting and desperate for just a hint of him, just a single, blessed point of contact—

“Granger—” he began, his voice strangled as if she were plucking the truth from the depths of his
very black-edged soul.
“Malfoy.”

She swiped her tongue out to wet her bottom lip and that was the action that snapped his veritable
control.

She witnessed the moment his eyes went from desperate to feral and hungry—watched as he lost
all control and unleashed it all onto Hermione.

Her hands were ready and laced into his hair just as his mouth descended upon hers and took what
she’d been desperate to give for longer than she’d care to admit.

The first shock of contact shattered through her defenses and she pressed her body closer to his just
as his hand fisted the material of her dress at her hip, gripping her through the cotton with his
fingernails digging into her skin drawing a timid groan from her lips she hadn’t noticed she
released in the first place.

Kissing Malfoy was a religious experience akin to the reverence of worship at the altar of a deity of
lust, his mouth moulded to hers and his tongue a lethal weapon that sent shockwaves of pure
pleasure directly to the apex of her thighs.

He reached forward and pulled her onto his lap in one swift, smooth movement which caused a
squeal of surprise to escape her mouth but Malfoy swallowed it down with his lips, a smirk forming
there at the shrill sound that just escaped her mouth.

Warm, rich notes of cinnamon and cherries invaded her senses while Malfoy hands danced across
her stomach and she sucked in a sharp breath when he yanked her forward on his lap, her legs
going to either side of his until her front was flush with his and she felt the sure sign of his desire in
physical form pressed against her center.

She whimpered as he pulled his lips away from her mouth to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down
her neck, the nip of his teeth causing her to rock her hips against his without thinking, head tilted
back and eyes rolling backwards at the pleasure of his mouth upon her neck.

“That’s it, Granger. Roll your hips for me, just like that.”

The husk of his voice sent shivers skittering down her spine, and she found that she wanted to hear
it again, desperately.

So, she rolled her hips against his, moaning at the pressure that it pressed against her center when it
made contact with the stiff member in his pants.

His hand abandoned her hip and inched its way forward, pulling her dress up with it and her eyes
met his the moment his fingers circled the dampness of her cotton knickers.

There was a cocky tilt to his mouth that was red and swollen from the attention her own lips had
given him, and his platinum hair was mussed from her fingertips.

He was the epitome of sex-drunk, and the self-satisfied confidence written on his face had
Hermione dragging her center across his fingertips as he added that much-needed pressure just
where she needed it.

“How does this feel, Granger? Good?”

She nodded, falling forward until her hair was in wild ringlets around her face and her arms were
braced against his shoulders for support as her thighs began to shake around his.

His fingers swirled around her and a piercing pleasure built in a wave in her core as she trembled
and moaned against him, the sensations growing almost too unbearable, but it felt too good for her
to beg him to stop.

The wave was building to a crest, and she was desperate to fall over the edge of it.

One of his hands gripped her face to guide her lips to his again and she sobbed with pleasure into
his mouth as his teeth encircled her bottom lip, rolling it around and biting down until she
whimpered in pain but the moment the pressure was gone she was desperate for more.

He licked his way into her mouth, Malfoy’s entire being laser-focused on her mouth and her core
simultaneously as he tried to rock her towards an edge she hadn’t peaked over with anyone other
than herself watching before.

She got into a particularly pleasurable rhythm against his fingers as she bucked against his length,
Malfoy’s entire body shuddering at the action.

“There you go,” he hissed out, head lolling back while her hips undulated against his own. His eyes
found hers once more, heavy-lidded and pupils so blown out she could hardly find his grey irises.

“Look at you, so beautiful fucking yourself on my cock.”

One of his fingers slid past the cotton barrier of her knickers and found its way inside of her,
slipping in easily thanks to the wetness he found there already.

“Fuck, Granger. So wet for me already, aren’t you?”

He started out slow with that finger, massaging her insides as she thrust her hips against it, wishing
that he’d give her more, more more.

Malfoy had a thumb on her clit and a finger inside her, and used his other hand to crash their lips
together just as she whimpered desperately for him to give her even more stimulation.

“Something you want, Granger?” he asked against her lips.

Hermione put some distance between their mouths before sucking in a breath of air but didn’t get a
chance to get much down before he took her lips once again, greedy in his pursuit of her, like he
couldn’t get enough of her mouth on his.

“Please,” she panted against his mouth, begging for more sensations, more stimulation, more of
him.

Then his mouth flattened as he smirked against her lips, that confidence in his abilities sending
another shock of wetness to her center that he definitely noticed.

“Please? Please, what Granger? Use your words.”

Hermione groaned aloud, wriggling her hips harder against him but he held firm.

“Please, more.”
“More?”

His tone was teasing—mockingly so. She moaned in desperation, not above begging for him to
move that finger inside of her.

“Please, please, please,” she ground out, mindless in her want, frenzied in her need.

“I know what you need. Since you've been so good, I'll give it to you. How does that sound,
Granger? Will you keep being good for me?”

"Yes, yes, yes," she chanted like it was the answer to every question she'd ever been asked.

He pulled that infernal finger out slowly, teasingly, then pushed it back in all at once, the force of it
rocking her on his lap.

She whined and whimpered in satisfaction at the new stimulation, leaning into his touch as he kept
a deep, thrusting rhythm while she rolled her hips against his.

“You love what I do to you, don’t you Granger?”

“Yes,” she cried out, falling forward into him as she moaned and writhed in his grasp.

His free hand trailed up her jaw until his thumb caressed the plump skin of her lower lip, still
tender from where he’d bitten down on it previously.

Malfoy yanked her toward him and placed a tender kiss on the lip he’d bitten just as her thighs
shook and her stomach clenched and her mind cleared of anything and everything aside from the
man before her.

She cried out in pure ecstasy, the spasms rocking through her body as she rode the wave of her
orgasm against the hard length in his pants.

She wasn’t aware of time or space or the fact that she’d just rode herself to completion against
Draco fucking Malfoy. She didn’t notice the pure adoration in his eyes or the wash of honey on her
tastebuds.

It was only him and the pleasure he’d given her.

Finally when she regained her mind, she opened her eyes to find him staring at her with pure,
unabashed want—no, need— in those steel silver eyes, but before she could turn away, his hand
shot out to grip her jaw in his hand and he directed her face directly towards his, their mouths a
centimeter apart, but he didn’t close the distance.

“Well, aren’t you going to thank me, Granger?”

“I—”

She cut herself off, her mind not working in the way that she wanted to in the moment as she came
down from a high she’d never experienced in front of another person before.

He glanced at her almost mockingly, the pout of his lips and tilt of his head not quite sardonic, but
she also couldn’t quite pinpoint the exact look he was going for.
She was just about to ask him if he really expected her to thank him for an orgasm when he pulled
his finger from her center and watched in unabashed rapture as he captured that finger in his mouth
and sucked it clean, dark eyes glittering with the promise of what, exactly, he was going to do with
her next.

She didn’t get the chance to scream before he surged forward and wrapped his arms around her
middle and stood all in one move, striding toward the sitting room where he slammed her against
the wall by the stairs that she assumed he was aiming for before he got caught up in her mouth
again.

She was panting against his mouth, entire body thrumming and alive with the pure ecstasy of
emotions he’d already given to her when his hand came up to her chest and he ripped the neckline
of it down to palm her bare breast, his eyes seemingly unhinged as he took in her bare form.

“Oh, fuck, just look at you,” he rasped out, staring at her breasts with rapturous adoration on his
face.

His mouth was on a collision course with her nipple when the rush of flames in the fireplace
sounded in the middle of the sitting room and none other than Gawain Robards appeared in the
Floo, his disembodied head sticking through the green fire.

“Malfoy. We need you at the Ministry—now.”

Thankfully, Hermione and Malfoy weren’t visible to him at the angle that had them standing so
close to the stairs.

Malfoy swore under his breath but didn’t let her go.

“I can’t leave Granger. She’s on bedrest—”

His voice was strangled and there was an angry lilt to it, and she unwrapped her legs from Malfoy’s
waist to a glare from the man currently in her arms.

She ignored it and strode back to the kitchen the way they’d come on shaky legs, though she
avoided Robards’ stare as she did so.

“The only risk to Granger now is the poison in her system. We caught them—all of them. We need
you here, now, to interrogate the ones that were captured to the best of your abilities.”

Hermione took a seat back at the kitchen table and took a few deep breaths to collect herself from
what had just happened in order to prepare herself for the news of what was inevitably coming her
way. Either the Death Eaters were captured, or they weren’t.

Malfoy hadn’t told her anything regarding the Death Eaters yet, and she hadn’t asked, either,
considering her unwillingness to accept that there were more than a few ways that she was
currently facing death.

“But the raid—”

“Was moved up because they were tipped off. We only got word to move our operation up thanks
to your friend, Parkinson. You owe her when this is all said and done. Now, come on. I’m sending
someone through to keep watch over Granger, they insisted. Now, key him into the wards and let
him in.”

“Sir, I really don’t feel comfortable just letting anyone—”

“Malfoy—you let Potter in or it’s your job on the line. Understand?”

Hermione’s ears perked up at the mention of Harry.

“It’s alright, Draco. You can let Harry in.”

Hermione didn’t allow herself to analyze why she’d called him ‘Draco’ instead of Malfoy like
normal. It felt too…cold and informal after what they’d just done.

She hid her blush in her hands as he kept his eyes trained on her and not on his boss in the flames
before them.

A muscle feathered in Draco’s jaw as he clenched his fists and storm clouds gathered in his
swirling eyes. She could detect a hint of smoky fire burning the back of her tongue that she realized
must’ve been pure anger and rage—at what, she couldn’t discern, but from the look on his face, she
could only assume that it was due to the fact that they’d been interrupted.

Oh, Gods. How was she supposed to act around him now? Demure, and shy? Should she go up to
him and kiss him goodbye? Did they even like each other?

This entire situation was all too gods-damned confusing.

Draco must’ve sensed the confusion and discomfort rolling off of her because he strode toward her
before throwing a comment over his shoulder at Robards about sending Harry over in exactly five
minutes.

“Pinky.”

“Yes, Master Draco?”

Hermione didn’t even jump as the elf appeared directly at their side, a placid smile on her face with
mischief swimming in them, as if she knew just what exactly Draco and Hermione had been doing
in the kitchen.

“Please pop over to the Ministry and have Potter give you a drop of his blood. Please key him into
the Floo for the cottage, if you don’t mind.”

The savage blankness to his voice had Hermione squirming in her seat, the memory of that pure,
unrelenting focus that had been on her only moments earlier still swimming in her mind and
tingling on her skin.

“Right away, Master Draco.”

The moment the elf disappeared and Robards ended the Floo call, Draco stood tall and imposing in
front of Hermione, the ghost of a smirk on his too-beautiful features.

“There’s that yellow in your aura again. I wonder what that emotion could be?”
Hermione looked away, well aware that she was staring at him with awe and wonder soaring
through her veins. Of course, he knew she felt this way about him. He could read her emotions just
as she could with his.

It put them on an even playing field, at least.

He reached down and pulled her up by wrapping his arms around her sides and moulding her body
flush with his, the warmth radiating off him sending her mind swimming as she inhaled his ocean
spray scent and tasted the lavender of his happiness, the hard-candy sweetness of his mischief.

“Now, Granger, where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?”

She let out a squeak of surprise as his lips met hers once more, soft velvet encompassing her own
as that all-too confusing wave of uncertainty came to a screeching halt in her mind and she
abandoned her worries to throw her arms around his shoulders and anchor him to her while he
licked into her mouth and she opened immediately for him, his lips forming a smile against her
own at her willing excitement to kiss him back.

The cinnamon of his passion melded with the cherry sweetness of his desire and she let out a soft
whimper of want while he swept her up in his current and allowed her to be pulled back out into the
sea of lust that he refused to give her a reprieve from—a break she wasn’t sure she ever wanted.

Her legs wrapped around his waist as he set her down on top of the table in the kitchen, her soaking
wet center once again pressed right up against the steely length of him and she moaned into his
mouth as his tongue licked and swirled into her, his hand on her neck anchoring her in place so that
his lips could get the traction that he wanted.

“Open your mouth,” he instructed and she did so without thinking, obeying on command and
nearly falling into a puddle at the look of pure controlled possession swimming on his face.

Draco pulled her tongue into his mouth, sucking and licking until she was breathing heavily enough
to press her chest up against his, his hands coming up to knead her breasts through her dress.

He’d only just begun to put his attention on them when the Floo sounded again and Hermione
realized that Harry was supposed to be coming through.

“Oh, fuck.”

Draco chuckled against her mouth, following a path down her neck until Harry cleared his throat in
the sitting room.

Draco sighed and rested his forehead atop Hermione's.

“You really know how to make an entrance, don’t you Potter?”

That familiar sneer was back in Draco’s voice, but his eyes were gleaming with a promise of what
was to come when he returned, and Hermione licked her lips in anticipation.

Draco groaned, closing his eyes and tilting his head upwards to the ceiling before he smoothed his
shirt, adjusted himself a bit outside his pants, and then brought his hands to Hermione’s hair.

He brushed the strands back down to a manageable height, pulled her dress back over her almost-
exposed chest, and ran possessive hands down her neck and arms, bringing his hands back to her
face to tilt her back to meet his eyes once again.

“I’ll be back soon, Granger. Don’t let Potter give you any shit.”

“I heard that, Malfoy.”

“You were supposed to,” Draco bit out while never taking his eyes from Hermione.

She felt that sense of wonder bubble back up in her chest.

Was this what a life with him would look like? Uncontrollable desire and possession in the form of
loving glances and gentle caresses?

Something sparked behind Draco’s eyes as Hermione’s wonder grew into something stronger,
though she couldn’t determine the feeling in the moment with Harry standing ten feet away.

“I’m not letting them keep me a moment longer than necessary, and then I’m coming back to you,
understand?”

“Yes,” she whispered out, sighing into his mouth as he bent down to claim a parting kiss that had
her head reeling and her toes curling where she sat on the edge of the kitchen table.

He pulled away all-too reluctantly and Hermione herself was also reluctant to see him go.

How far would she have let things go if Robards hadn’t interrupted them? She knew the answer to
that, but didn’t want to confront it in the moment.

Draco strode toward Harry, her best friend a good foot shorter than Draco, though he tried to appear
intimidating.

Harry said something harsh to Draco if the flush of his cheeks and the rough cut of his mouth was
anything to go by, but what Draco said was clear and loud enough for Hermione to hear.

“You are in charge of her safety, do you understand? The moment something goes wrong, you send
for me immediately. The blood wards should hold up, but if you do not contact me if something
goes wrong, you’ll have me to deal with. Got that, Potter?”

“Yeah, yeah, Malfoy. We both went through the same Auror training, you know? She’s my best
friend; I’ll keep her safe.”

“You’d better—otherwise the training that I received before you ever had even a single glance at
Voldemort will make an appearance.”

Draco made for the Floo, his eyes on Hermione as he stepped through, that ever present intensity in
his entire being evident in the way he walked—stalking towards something with a purpose and a
confident lilt to his gait that no one other than him possessed.

“Ministry of Magic.”

The last thing Draco saw before he vanished was a matching intensity in her gaze, her teeth biting
down on the same lip he’d ensnared between his own teeth just minutes before.
 “So, Mione. You’re dying, you just snogged Malfoy within an inch of your life by the looks of it,
and now the two of you are getting married. Anything else I need to be updated on?”

Hermione turned to her best friend sheepishly and gave him a guilty smile.

“No…that pretty much covers it.”

Chapter End Notes

Here's me trying to keep my promise of updating every 2 days like clockwork...hopefully I can
keep it up!

What did you guys think of this chapter? I'm so excited for what's to come!

Next chapter--the first ritual, Hermione off bedrest, and maybe the appearance of some friends
:)

Until next time my lovely readers,

Kristen

Spotify Playlist for this story:

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 Chapter 29
Chapter Notes

Song for this chapter:

Nail In The Coffin by Rosie Darling, Boy In Space

See the end of the chapter for more notes

June 27th, 2005

Draco entered the Ministry on a rampage.

‘Fuck anyone and everything that led to forcing him away from his witch’s side’ was his
philosophy in this instance, and the moment his eyes collided with that of Gawain Robards, the
very same wizard who’d cock-blocked him so monumentally that he was sure to have a hard-on for
the rest of his eternity, Draco snarled at the man in question.

“Something the matter, Malfoy?”

“Where are the prisoners you wish for me to interrogate?”

The Ministry was a whorl of missives, yelling Aurors, and assistants running so quickly they
almost sloshed hot coffee on his impeccable robes.

“This way,” Robards intoned, beckoning him over to the lifts where he was sure to be taking him to
the holding cells where Granger usually performed her magic siphoning.

He wondered briefly how much longer she could go without siphoning, and just how he could get
away with murdering inmates for her. He shuddered at the memory of disposing of the
executioner’s body while she slept soundly in his cottage.

His very being vibrated with the need to return to her and finish what they’d started—but the sight
of at least fifty Death Eaters in multiple holding cells at the bottom floor of the Ministry halted him
in his tracks.

“We’ve got a long day—and night—ahead of us, Malfoy. They’ve all been given V, so that should
loosen them up considerably. Now, where should we start?”

Malfoy spotted the last Carrow and felt some of his wrath at being interrupted with Granger abate
at the thought of how happy the thought of torturing one of his childhood tormentors would make
him, and smirked.
The color of the room turned black around each and every Death Eater’s aura—the color of fear.

***

Hermione had a feeling she was going to be in for a long night of explanations with Harry Potter.

“Who told you about the…marriage thing?” She asked him gently, wondering if Draco had come
clean with everything to him already.

“Robards and Malfoy, though he made me take a magical vow not to say anything. I can only talk
about it with you, Malfoy and Robards. It’s absolutely barmy, Hermione.”

She tasted Harry’s lemony irritation and cringed, making to move down off of the table and reach
for the crystals given to her by the Malfoy’s when Harry came up to her side immediately, helping
her down even though she swatted him away.

“I can do things by myself, you know. I am not actually an invalid, Harry.”

“I know, I know. It’s just…I’ve only just learned about this poison, and you haven’t responded to
any of our letters. Once we moved the raid up and it was successful, no fatalities—or injuries, for
that matter—I knew I could ask Robards for pretty much anything, so I asked for him to pull
Malfoy in and send me to you, if only for the afternoon. I needed to see you with my own two eyes,
see that you were alright, and he wasn’t…well…”

“What? Taking advantage of my poor, sickly mind? You know me better than that, Harry.”

“Can you blame me, Hermione? I knew nothing of this for seven years, Hermione. Seven. Years.
Could you imagine how you’d act toward me if the roles were reversed? And don’t even get me
started on Ron—”

“I do not want to talk about Ron.”

Harry’s bushy eyebrows shot up in surprise and his stance turned defensive, his eyes squinting at
her as if trying to determine if Draco had actually done a spell to muddle her mind and make her
more agreeable to him and less so toward her friends that she’d known her entire life.

“Hermione…he didn’t leak to the press about your condition. He felt awful enough about how you
found out about Daphne, and—”

“You didn’t know about her, did you? Rita Skeeter sent me a letter and told me they were spotted
together just days after we attended a charity ball together, and the pictures go back months while
we were still together. Did you know?”

Harry blanched at her question, coughing over his response as red bloomed across his cheeks.

“No, blimey, Hermione! I had no clue about the two of them until the papers broke the story, and as
for him cheating on you…she hasn’t published that story, Hermione. Maybe it was a bluff, and she
wanted you to write back to make an inflammatory statement against Ron, or something? Or maybe
he really did cheat, and she’s waiting until the best moment to drop it on us and make the situation
even worse—who knows. All I know is…he didn’t leak the story about you being sick to the
press.”

“Oh, so he’ll draw a hard line at outing my dying to the world, but when it comes to infidelity it’s
all roses and sunshine, right?”

Harry cringed.

“No, that’s not what I meant. I—”

“You’re right, Harry, and I’m sorry for taking this out on you. It’s just…I couldn’t really talk about
this in this way with Draco, now could I?”

Harry flinched at the sound of Draco’s name as she furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.

“You call him ‘Draco’ now, then?”

“I…well, yes, Harry.”

Hermione couldn’t control her blush at the memory of what he’d just walked in on.

“Look. I don’t like the bloke, that much is obvious. But he’s clearly willing to go to some…pretty
extreme lengths to keep you alive, and for that I’m grateful. For that, I’ll give him a chance. If you
think I should give him a chance? If you think this…relationship between the two of you has
potential?”

Hermione thought back to the intensity in Draco’s stare, to the electric fire his touch elicited within
her, and she blushed so hard she was sure she resembled an overripe tomato.

“Oh, there’s potential there, for sure.”

Harry cringed and brought his hands to rub his eyes beneath his glasses.

“That is disgusting, Hermione, and not at all what I meant!”

“What? I meant that there is potential for a happy life with Draco! What did you think I meant?”

“Your eyes got all…googly and you were blushing! What else was I supposed to think?”

“My eyes did not go all ‘googly’ or whatever the hell that means.”

“Sure, Hermione. Sure. Now, tell me any and everything you know about this poison, your
condition, and this bloody bond you’re entering with Draco Malfoy of all people,” Harry said with
an upturned tint to his voice to mock Hermione when he spoke Draco’s name.

Hermione leaned over to smack her best friend on the arm but led him into the sitting room of the
cottage, grateful to not be cooped up in the bed once more considering her wounds had healed and
she was only fighting the poison thanks to the siphoning Draco had coordinated for her.

Harry took the deep blue velvet wingback in front of the fireplace while Hermione sat cross-legged
on the loveseat, placing a pillow in her lap for comfort.

“Well, I suppose I should start from the beginning, then.”

***

Draco returned home however many hours later, unwilling to spare even a moment to check the
time before Flooing immediately back to the cottage.

He found Potter sitting in front of his fireplace, a contemplative look on his face and a glass of
Draco’s finest firewhiskey in his hand.

“Drinking on the job, Potter? Would’ve assumed guarding your best friend would be the one time
to not treat the job like some nonsensical holiday.”

“Relax, Malfoy. She got tired and went to bed a few hours ago. How did it go?”

Draco let out a labored breath through his teeth before clenching and unclenching his fists,
desperate to relax and let go of the nervous energy coursing through his body that he hadn’t already
expended on searching for agonizing hours through the minds of some of the most evil wizards and
witches he’d ever come across, and that included his aunt and the dark lord Voldemort himself.

“As well as can be expected. None of them knew of Greyback’s whereabouts, but considering the
sheer amount of Death Eaters we captured, there’s no way the insurgency can last. They simply do
not have the numbers. I believe once I search the last of their minds, Granger will be able to return
to society with me trailing her, so long as I don’t find anything new to say otherwise.”

Potter blew out an equally strained breath before standing and extending a hand to Draco.

“Good. That’s good. Well, then I suppose my work here is done.”

Draco ignored his outstretched hand and instead snatched the crystal glass out of his hand before
setting it on the black mantle behind him.

“Not quite. I’ll need you to return here at six in the morning to watch over her until I return later.
She’ll definitely want to enter the library, and if so, keep her away from my father if you can. He’s
not been himself, lately. As for my mother, she’ll most likely want to have tea with Granger or
invite her for a walk of the property and the gardens. Stick close to her side, especially if they get
close to the edges of the wards. I don’t believe she’s truly at risk here, but you can never be too
certain.”

Potter eyed him with a quirk to his too-full eyebrows that reminded Draco of caterpillars.

“What?”

“Nothing, I’m just…glad you’re taking this so seriously.”

“Of course I’m taking this seriously, Potter. It’s Granger we’re talking about—the bloody Golden
Girl herself.”

“That may be true, but is that the only reason you’re taking so much care with her? You hated her
in school and everyone like her—how am I supposed to believe you’ve just suddenly changed?”
“Because it hasn’t just been some sudden change, Potter. And I don’t have to explain myself to you.
We have already entered into the bond with the exchange of gifts, and we will complete our first
ritual in three days time. There’s no undoing this. She’s mine, now, Potter. Forever.”

Potter sneered at Draco, but Draco kept up his familiar mocking smirk in place as he did so, if only
to piss off the sod even more than he already had.

“You talk of her like she’s some object to be kept. She is a person—you know that right? A person
you failed to protect all those years ago—when you hated her and everyone like her. So forgive me
if I’m skeptical of your true intentions, here.”

“Let me make one thing perfectly clear, Potter,” Draco began, his tone icy and brokering no
arguments on the severity of the situation.

“I’m listening,” Potter said, and Draco ground his teeth together until he was sure they’d be turned
into a fine powder from the strength of his jaw clenching down.

“Hermione Granger belongs to no one in this world aside from me,” Draco started, and Potter
began to interrupt but Draco put a hand out on Potter’s shoulder to keep him quiet.

“Just like I belong to no one and nothing in this world—aside from her. Our souls will be forever
interlaced, and I agreed to this path, no matter how many other times I searched for a different—
better—route for her. Because I can think of no curse greater in this life than being shackled to me
for eternity, but she chose this, too. So, if you’ve got problems with this arrangement, Potter, take it
up with her.”

Draco removed his hand from a shocked silent Potter and strode toward the stairs where his witch
was sleeping soundly.

“Six o’clock sharp, Potter. Don’t forget.”

And then Draco used his magic to Apparate him to Granger’s door, edging it open slowly and
silently where he found her sprawled on top of the blankets like someone had carried her sleeping
form up and hadn’t been able to get her underneath the blankets.

Pinky had apparently changed her into her sleep clothes, and the silky satin of her deep blue
nightdress clung to her generous curves that were highlighted by the shimmering rays of pale
moonlight that filtered in through the curtains slightly parted in front of the window in the corner of
the room.

She was bathed in shadows and brilliance, her wild mane of hair draped around her head like a
shimmering crown of golden brown, like burnt caramel in the sunlight.

He strode quickly to her side and parted a stray curl that had fallen over her mouth, fingering the
silky smoothness of her hair that scented of jasmine and something sugary sweet he couldn’t place.

She shifted in the bed, arching toward his touch as he caressed the skin of her cheek.

Pulling the corner of the blanket back, he reached beneath her body and grasped her until she was
pliant in his arms, swiftly tucking her beneath the warmth of the coverlet and stepping back slightly
before her hand caught on his wrist, her honey brown eyes suddenly open and half-aware as she
took in his form in the moonlight.
“Draco?”

Her sleepy voice speaking his name was almost his very undoing.

“I’m sorry for getting back so late. The Ministry had need of my specific…talents. Go back to sleep
—I’ll be gone early in the morning as well. I’m not sure of when I’ll be back indefinitely, but I’ll
make sure to be back for the ritual.”

“When is that, again?” She asked, sitting up slightly until the nightdress spilled down low and
exposed the warm curve of her breast in the night, the memory of how close he’d been to having
his mouth on said breast pounding away at his skull as he basked in her luminous brilliance.

“Three days. I should be done interrogating them all by then, barring any unforeseen emergencies
at the Ministry. If I’m not done by then, I’ll simply tell Robards that if he wants someone of my
skill to continue working for his department, he will let me return to you.”

Granger’s mouth pulled into a half smile as she moved over slightly in her bed and tugged hard on
his wrist.

“Lie down with me, then, if I’m not going to get to see you for the next few days.”

Draco didn’t even have to contemplate it before he was toeing off his dragonhide shoes and
shedding his overcoat, unbuttoning his white Oxford and sliding down the black slacks on his legs.

He could feel the physical imprint of Granger’s eyes on his form, but he bit back any remarks that
might rile her up, fully aware that she needed her rest if she were to make the effects of the
previous siphoning last.

No matter how desperately he wanted to rip that nightgown off. With his teeth.

“This alright?”

He slid into the bed with her, positioning his arm around her shoulders as she leaned her head onto
his chest.

“Absolutely.”

Her words were whispered with a heavy contentment to them, sleep begging to pull her back
underneath its waves.

“Was it hard, today? Going into all of their minds?”

He squeezed her body against him, feeling her melt into him as her breathing grew deep and slow,
her scent clogging up his nose and the colors of yellow and gold filtered off of her until he couldn’t
discern where one color ended and the other began. Happiness, and—the emotion for gold that he
couldn’t put a name to yet. He didn’t want to, either.

Not quite yet.

“No. It only reminded me of what I’m fighting for.”

It was true, too. The horrors of what he’d seen through the eyes of others while searching for more
insurgent Death Eaters had been dulled by the effects of Hermione Granger and how he’d torn
down each and every wall he’d ever erected in his mind that forced him to remember what—and
who—he was going to come home to once it was all over.

“It’ll be harder tomorrow. I’ll be going into the minds of the inner circle, who were there when I
was tortured by Bellatrix.”

He flinched slightly, as if suddenly remembering he hadn’t shared that part of his life with her yet.

It was like they were two halves of the same person already, and the ease at which he felt with her
was only sharpened by the tight embrace she encircled him in at his words.

“She tortured you, too?”

Her colors dimmed from yellow to a melancholy navy, like dark waves on a stormy ocean where
nothing could reach it aside from the monstrous blinding strikes of lightning.

“Yes. Many times, in front of others to teach me a lesson, or sometimes when we were alone, just
so she could ‘build up my restraint’ if I were ever caught and tortured. I don’t think anyone told her
that the side of the Light wouldn’t resort to such tactics on their prisoners, but even if they did—
I’m not sure she would’ve cared either way. It was to make me stronger—a better soldier for the
dark—for Voldemort.”

She placed a feather soft kiss on his chest, right above one of his scars given to him by Potter in the
bathroom at that infernal school.

He was quite sure he’d never been the recipient of such easy, willingly given affection.

“I’m sorry,” she told him, her hands reaching around to caress his neck just as he’d done with her
face just moments before.

“It’s in the past,” he said, wanting nothing more than to end this line of conversation.

Draco liked to talk of himself when it came to his accomplishments, his outward appearance, or his
wants and needs. Never of the past. Never of the things done to him. Never, never, never.

And yet—

With her, it had fallen from his lips like he were speaking to himself. There were no consequences
to telling her this, he realized.

She would not use this information against him. She was only…sorry. Truly sorry, if the agony in
her voice and the change of color in her aura was anything to go by.

Red suddenly ignited in her aura, and Draco’s eyes furrowed.

“What are you thinking of?”

“They’ll all get what’s coming to them, Draco. Promise me—they won’t get away with what they
did to you—to me. To all of us.”

Draco placed a kiss atop her head.

 “I promise, Darling. They won’t get away with what they’ve done. And if vengeance isn’t delivered
by your hand, then I’d be happy to be the weapon you wield to dole it out for you.”

She settled back into him once more, her colors dimming until there was nothing but a clear, light
blue tinted light hovering around her aura that told Draco she’d fallen into a light sleep already.

But not before she whispered something else into his chest that kept him up most of the night.

“Mine.”

Chapter End Notes

Hello my lovely readers! What did you think of this chapter?

Any ideas of what's to come? Let me know what you think and where you think this story is
going next!

Until next time my lovely readers,

Kristen :)
 Chapter 30
Chapter Notes

Song for this chapter:

Granite by Sleep Token

See the end of the chapter for more notes

June 30th, 2005

It had been three days since Draco had slept in Hermione’s bed, and she was desperate to see him
again.

The Ministry had kept him away from her for too long, and there was only so much of Harry Potter
than Hermione could take—just as there was only so much Ginny Weasley-Potter could take of
being away from her husband and the father of her children.

“Tell me again, Mione, why you’re staying with Malfoy of all people! I know he’s your bodyguard,
but couldn’t you have just warded your apartment, or something? Gotten a Fidelius charm placed
on it?”

“Ginny, I appreciate your confidence, but I can barely produce a Patronus lately, let alone cast one
of the most difficult charms in the history of magic.”

Ginny’s face fell in the flames before brightening back up again as Harry walked behind Hermione.

“Hello love! The kids are missing you, constantly asking when you’ll be back. Any kind of
timetable there?”

“I wish I had an answer for you, Gin, but Malfoy is swarmed at the Ministry and is trying to get
through all the captured Death Eaters before the rit—er, the thing Hermione and Malfoy have to do
this weekend.”

“Aha! That right there! See what I mean Hermione? He never used to lie to me, and look—he just
did it!”

“I’m sorry Ginny I’m afraid that’s partially my fault—Robards swore him to secrecy—literally,
with magic.”

“And I suppose I’m not allowed to know this, then?”

“Trust me, Gin. You’re better off not knowing. At least not yet. I’ll tell you as soon as the gag order
is lifted, I promise.”

Ginny leveled her best friend with an angry stare as one of the kids screeched as if they were
charging into battle.

“As my best friend, I would have assumed you’d have already told me, Mione.”

“I know, but it’s all in due time, I promise. It’s not like I like keeping things from you, but—”

“Like the fact that you’re snogging Malfoy apparently?”

Hermione cast a sharp glance back at Harry who only shrugged his shoulders before taking his
glasses off to clean them with the hem of his shirt.

“It’s not like I was sworn to keep quiet about what I see here, just—well, the other thing.”

“Harry Potter, you absolute traitor!”

“Whatever, back to me! Hello! I’m the one in the flames here about to have to go and tend to
whichever child has decided to use his father’s broom as a sword. You and me are having a girl’s
day as soon as you’re off bedrest, or out of hiding, or whatever orders you’re under. Do you
understand me?”

“Yes, Ginny. I understand. Honestly, a girl’s day does sound very relax—ah!”

Hermione’s words were cut off into a scream as a man’s pant leg made to step out of the fireplace
it’d just appeared in, the Floo roaring to life as Ginny reared back just as Hermione almost toppled
onto the floor.

A pair of warm, muscled arms wrapped around her before she could face plant onto the plush
carpet in front of the fireplace and was greeted with the sight of Draco Malfoy kneeling before her,
his eyes wide and calculating as if searching her for an injury of some kind.

“Y-you’re back,” she somehow managed to choke out through the lump in her throat at seeing him
again since they last spoke, the memory of his lips dancing across her own boiling in her blood as
she desperately tried to reel back her pounding heart.

Draco tasted of lavender, honey and lemon, a combination of three separate emotions that
Hermione found it hard to sparse through—irritation in the sourness of the lemon, happiness in the
florals of lavender, and something much more complex that she still hadn’t been able to decipher
with that drop of honey, sweet as it may be.

“I’m officially finished. Potter, you may leave now.”

Draco still hadn’t taken his eyes off of her, and she suddenly wished for him to never do so again.

The cackling laughter from the fireplace, however, brought both of their eyes back to the witch
awaiting on the other end of the Floo call.

“Oh yes, you’ve definitely been snogging him. What’s next—the two of you going to get married
soon?”
“Ginny! Sorry—I’m leaving. I’m going.”

Hermione’s cheeks heated and the briefest flicker of strawberry candied mischief flickered through
her senses and she glanced up at Draco to find his eyes swimming with warmth and something like
relief—at what, she wasn’t sure, but she couldn’t help but feel the exact same feeling. Relief.

Like she could breathe easily again now that he was near.

Was it the bond between them, writhing and alive, that made her feel that way? Or was it something
else entirely?

“Catch you later, Hermione. Malfoy.”

“Potter.”

The two men did not shake hands as Draco helped her up to a standing position, his arm
instinctively wrapping around her shoulders as he anchored her to his side.

She could just barely hear Ginny’s voice on the other end of the fireplace as Harry stepped through
before the connection was ceased permanently.

“Just wait til Ron gets a load of…”

Her voice faded into nothing and then it was only Hermione and Draco as they stood in the sitting
room, the backsplash of vivid oranges and pastel purples reflecting in warm, vibrant hues from the
sunset that bounced off the neutral creams and beiges of the cottage.

“Is everything finished, then? No more Death Eaters to interrogate?”

“Yes, it’s done. I have a hearing next week at the Ministry about the V as well as other things, and
you’ll most likely need to be in attendance. After this weekend, you’ll be free to go wherever you
wish.”

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief as she edged out of Draco’s hold.

“That’s good. I’ll need to head back to my flat and collect my cat from Harry and Ginny.”

“Your flat? And why would you need to return to your flat?”

“Because it’s my flat…? I’m not quite sure I understand the question.”

Draco stepped forward, his hand gripping her elbow to turn her further into him, his presence
towering over here as that same flicker of lemony irritation washed over her.

“You’re not going to be living at your flat with the wards how they are. You’ll be staying here,
indefinitely.”

“Oh, I will, will I? And I suppose you think I’ll just do as you say, whenever you say it?”

“When it comes to your safety, yes, Darling, I do.”

His eyes glittered with barely restrained anger as his cinnamon passion filtered through her, and it
wasn’t the fact that he didn’t want her to stay at her flat any longer that had her all riled up—it was
the righteous indignation coursing through her blood that had her question how and where he found
his audacity to tell her what to do.

“And I also suppose you believe I’ll just bow to your every whim, is that it? That I won’t question
you? But you didn’t even stop to ask why I was going back to my flat in the first place—you just
automatically assumed that I wanted to go back to my flat to live there, not gather up all my
belongings considering the fact that, yes, I would most likely like to live here instead?”

Her chest was heaving, her eyes burning with spitting fire that she imagined catching on the dark
fabric of his charcoal robes.

“Don’t worry about retrieving your things—I’ll send Pinky to get them for you.”

“No, thank you. I’d like to get one last look at the place before leaving it for good.”

His nose was so close to hers it was almost touching, but Hermione at some point had brought her
arms up in front of her chest, crossing them in a form of rebellion against his self righteous tirade.

Draco cocked his head, an amused smirk finally playing across his plush lips as his pink tongue
darted out to wet it and the sight had Hermione shifting on her feet, craning her neck back to stare
up into his star flecked eyes.

“That attitude is going to get you in trouble one of these days, Granger.”

“Oh, is it, Malfoy? And how do you figure that?”

Before she could blink, his hand shot out and wrapped a fist around her curls, his hand
maneuvering her gaze until she could look nowhere aside from his eyes.

Her hands gripped his shoulders to keep herself steady, but it was unnecessary—he had her, and he
wasn’t letting go.

Draco leaned forward, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. She couldn’t help the shiver
that rocked through her body just as the sun sang its final note and sank beneath the horizon line,
bathing the room in a soft glow of grey far too similar to the eye color of the man holding her.

“That’s Draco to you, Darling.”

She leaned into his touch, stretching up to her toes, begging to close the distance between the two
of them so that she might feel the sweet relief of pleasure that he gave her with his mouth on hers, a
welcome change from the pulsing pain of her scar and the impending doom of her death that was
racing toward her faster than a runaway car.

“Master Draco! Mistress Hermione! Mistress Narcissa has instructed Pinky to get Mistress
Hermione ready for her ritual tonight!”

Draco hissed, his mouth close enough to Hermione that she felt the air wafting from his breath as
he did so, scented like spearmint. Her legs almost went weak from it.

“T-the first ritual…” Hermione trailed off, realizing that she’d almost completely forgotten about it
in the heat of him holding her close to him.

“Please, follow me Mistress Hermione!”

Hermione reluctantly stepped out of Draco’s hold, wondering how he’d disarmed her so quickly
and made her forget the point she’d been just about to make about him assuming things about her,
but his mouth was too bloody distracting.

And the way his hand had yanked her curls, the slight pinch giving way to a shooting pleasure that
zipped down her back and settled in her stomach…

“Granger—your purple is showing.”

Draco’s eyes glittered and his taste was mischief disguised in a strawberry flavored cocktail.
Beneath the surface, however, the unmistakable bite of smooth cherry and grainy texture of sugar
danced on her tastebuds.

“And you taste of sugared cherries.”

He stepped even further back, his platinum hair swept lazily to the side in a way that made
Hermione’s toes curl where she stood.

“Interesting. I used to sprinkle sugar on my cherries when I was younger. You’ll have to tell me
more about the different tastes you sense from the ring.”

“Pinky asks that Mistress Hermione and Master Draco speak after Mistress Hermione is ready for
the ritual!”

A jolt of nervousness sparked in Hermione’s chest, and Draco must’ve realized her panic because
he was at her side in a flash, smoothing her hair back from her face and tucking it behind her ears.

“You’ll do just fine tonight, Granger. I’m sure you’ve studied for the quiz afterwards, too.”

“The quiz?”

He laughed, a delightfully warm and rich sound that had Hermione watching him with widened
eyes, his dimples out as his perfectly straight white teeth were on display, his eyes crinkling around
the edges.

His irises danced with mirth and the grey morphed into a cool navy tone, the Black Lake on an
overcast day as a stray sunbeam sprayed the water in its brilliance.

“Pinky was told by Mistress Narcissa that it was important to not be late!”

Hermione broke the deep gaze with Draco to find Pinky dancing on the balls of her small feet,
wringing her hands nervously as her eyes darted between Hermione and Draco.

“My apologies, Pinky. We will not be late.”

Hermione turned back to find Draco unruffled and aloof as he leaned back against he mantle of the
fireplace, but there was a slight flush to his cheeks and, while he held his hands in his pockets, she
thought she could see his knuckles clenched tightly where they were encased in the dark black
fabric of his trousers.

“Please, Pinky, lead the way.”

Pinky scrubbed, plucked, perfumed, lotioned, and pampered Hermione until she felt as if she had
been given an entire new layer of skin.

Her hair was equally done up, intricate braids weaving her hair into a delicate crown with loose
ringlets dripping down her back like jewelry.

A gauzy white dress was placed on her body, the material so loose and open that it showed off her
scars from the Department of Mysteries fight with Dolohov that left her with uterine scarring that
would make it impossible to have a child until she decided to go to St. Mungo’s and have it
removed like Padma had instructed.

Hermione didn’t want to think about Padma and how Ron had tricked her into giving up her secret,
not that it was entirely her fault—it was the Veritaserum Ron had dosed her with that had done it,
after all.

Pinky covered Hermione’s body in an oil that shimmered in the light and turned her a slightly
darker shade, giving her a warm, luminous glow in the moonlight streaming through the skylight in
the bathroom.

Lastly was the signature Jasmine scent that was slightly sugared, one of Hermione’s favorite things
about the bathroom’s tonics and perfumes.

“Mistress Hermione is ready,” Pinky said, something suspiciously like tears silvering in the corner
of her eyes.

“I am truly grateful for your help, Pinky.”

“Pinky is honored to have a Mistress as kind as Mistress Hermione.”

Hermione held Pinky’s hand as she Apparated them to the gardens, a small waterfall feeding into a
creek and pond in the center of the area.

Moonflowers and roses were in full bloom as the night shone down on them.

Draco was standing in pants as gauzy and white as the material of Hermione’s dress, but he wasn’t
wearing a shirt and—Godric, the sight of his bare chest in the moonlight, scars mottling his perfect,
alabaster skin…

Harry had done that, with his Sectumsempra Hermione realized.

And—there, on his lower abdomen, something like a scar from a knife slash carved into the
smooth, sleek muscles of his stomach.

Hermione stood five feet away from Draco, drinking him in as he did the same to her, their gazes
never clashing until a loud clearing of a throat alerted them to another’s presence.

Narcissa and Lucius were standing to the left of them, the matriarch of the Malfoy family holding a
bowl filled with what Hermione knew to be the blood of the three Malfoy’s before her, and Lucius
was holding onto his cane and stood before a podium with a book placed on top, the translation and
guide to the words they would be speaking.

“There’ll be plenty of time for looking later, son. Please, join hands.”
Thick, white clouds that had obscured the moon suddenly parted and in the bright light of the full
moon, Draco stepped forward to grasp Hermione’s hands as a chill fluttered through the air and
parted her dress just slightly enough so that she knew Draco had gotten an eyeful of her bare breast.

She only hoped that his parents would leave before the whole ‘naked under the moonlight’ part
occurred. If not…

If not, she hoped they would at least avert their eyes.

"You are exquisite, Granger."

Her cheeks burned as Lucius began reciting in Latin the first opening lines for the ritual.

First step—the cleansing.

Narcissa stepped forward, the bowl of blood switched out for a cloth dripping with clean water.

She placed the wet cloth on Hermione’s head, following the line of the dripping water with her
thumbs as the recitation of the ritual began in full, Narcissa’s kind eyes warm and reassuring as
Draco’s hands squeezed hers.

She wasn’t alone—they were all here, doing this, to save her life. They were all binding themselves
to her for the rest of their lives. These people would be her in-laws, she realized with a start.

Her scar burned. She didn’t dare let go of Draco’s hand to rub it.

Lucius’s droning voice drowned out the cicadas and crickets chirping and singing in the
background. Mist seeped from the ground as Narcissa whispered some unknown chant, her
wandless magic evoking some elemental magic Hermione hadn’t been expecting.

Fog and mist swirled around their ankles as Narcissa swept her fingers across her son’s cheeks and
forehead, drawing runes into his skin with the water just as she had with Hermione’s.

Suddenly, a line was carved into Hermione’s un-poisoned arm from an invisible knife, Lucius’
voice loud and clear as the same line appeared on Draco’s arm—the arm that wasn’t mottled with
the remnants of an old Dark Mark that Hermione hadn’t even bothered to look for when she saw
that his shirt was gone.

Narcissa’s water mark trails on Draco’s face turned red—blood red—and then the bowl was put up
to her mouth. The blood in the bowl Narcissa held to her mouth was steaming—boiling—and
Hermione had to choke back the fear of it until it hit her tongue, sweet and salty at the same time.

Narcissa then placed the bowl beneath Hermione’s bleeding arm, capturing some of her essence
within the bowl, and strode toward her son to place it to his own lips.

Narcissa took her own drink of the blood, as did Lucius. Hermione knew from her readings that this
would strengthen the familial bond between all four of them, making it near impossible to sever her
connection to the Malfoy and Black family magics through any other means aside from death.

They’d have to kill her if they wanted to get rid of her, now.

She would be keyed into all of their blood wards.

She was officially becoming a Malfoy, and something inside of her wasn’t recoiling and shriveling
up in fear at the thought of it.

Draco’s eyes locked onto hers and they were blazing with cinnamon flecked passion that swirled
through her senses, his gaze promising something she wasn’t sure she could put to words afterward.

The wind picked up as Lucius’ voice rang out, clear and bright, mixing with the mist and the fog
and the eerie silver glow of the moon.

“Coire, Simul, in perpetuum.

All at once, the night ceased to be—the moon became obscured by the clouds, the stars winked out
—the light vanished. Hermione could only see the faint glow from Draco’s skin and the whites of
his eyes as his parents stood out to the side.

He drew her close, and she knew, instinctively, that this was it.

His hands went to the flimsy straps of her dress and as it pooled at her feet on the ground, she saw
him do the same with his pants.

Hermione was tugged into his chest, the hard planes of his stomach pressing into her as her breasts
were flush against him. She sucked in a deep, shocked breath as the music of the night swarmed all
around them—an orchestra of nature binding them as she swayed into his body, her eyes wide as
the blood on Draco’s forehead painted in runes from his mother began to glow faintly, as if lit from
within his very being.

She could see the faint luminescence emanating off from her own body, the afterglow bleeding out
from her skin to his, and soon their foreheads were touching, hands exploring, skin on fire and
velvet smooth all at once.

A deep pulse of longing beat within Hermione’s chest, and she felt tears tracking down her face.

Draco lifted her face to his, concern shining in his eyes.

“What’s wrong, Granger? Are you hurt?”

“No, I—I can’t explain it. I’m just feeling so many things at once, it’s hard to explain.”

“I know the feeling.”

His voice rumbled through her, the wry lilt to his mouth spurring Hermione on as she used that
unexplainable, inexplicable taste of honey dripping into the back of her throat and pressed into him,
her mouth covering his as the birds chirped and the waterfall rushed behind them and the crickets
and cicadas sang and the wind whistled through the branches, all of nature matching the tune of
wild contentment beating in Hermione’s being.

Her scar no longer burned.

The impending doom that had been looming over her head for longer than she could remember
finally abated.

Draco’s hands tightened on her waist, and as she covered his mouth with hers, he stiffened almost
imperceptibly in her grasp but kissed her back with equal fervor. The honey in the air was tinted
with a sorrowful lilt of bittersweet chocolate, and while Hermione would dissect why Draco was so
saddened in the middle of their kiss, she was too lost in his touch to let it distract her.

Draco’s hold was tight—almost painfully so, but Hermione welcomed the tinge of pain.

Because what was pleasure after all, without just a little bit of pain to remind you just how good it
felt?

Draco gripped her thighs and lifted her onto his hips, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as
the mist thickened in the air and she could no longer see the waterfall or the pond or the
moonflowers and roses in the background—it was only her and Draco, and she was certain his
parents had left long ago, as the ceremony was over. This was just for them—their own slice of
privacy after the intimacy of the ritual.

His mouth slid over hers like slick velvet and she moaned into him as he took the lead, laying her
down on the plush grass beneath them. His length was hard as he hovered over her, his body
cocooning her in his warmth and safety as his form blocked out the circlet of the moon that
crowned him with its light.

She wrapped her legs around his waist to spur him on, but she could feel him holding back in his
restraint, his arms beside her head as he caged her in.

She whimpered into his mouth, damn near close to begging before he tore his mouth away from
hers. His body visibly shuddered from the action of pulling away from her.

“We’re not in our right minds right now, after the ritual. We—we need to go inside.”

Draco slowly, painfully, withdrew his body from Hermione’s—and she could tell by the sorrow in
his scent and the cinnamon passion still dripping from him that he was not happy about pulling
away from her.

Was it from his sense of honor in trying not to take advantage of her after a particularly heightened
moment, or was it something deeper than that? Was it because he was regretting tying himself to
her for all eternity, and needed a moment to himself away from her? Was that why he’d stiffened
under her kiss that she had initiated in the first place?

Oh, gods, why had they jumped into this without talking through each and every reason behind it?
Sure, he’d agreed, but his job and his entire family’s public reputation was on the line, not to
mention the fact that if she died on his watch, he’d most certainly be blamed for it.

Had he been coerced into a bonding he’d never even really wanted in the first place? She knew he
was physically attracted to her, that much was certain, but did he hate the fact that he would be
forever attached to an argumentative know-it-all?

Did he—

“Granger. Breathe. Your aura’s gone completely black.”

She couldn’t get enough air down her lungs. She was officially stuck in a bonded relationship with
Draco Malfoy—and he was probably going to hate every fucking minute of it.

At least it was better than dying, but still—what about him? His life?
“What have we done?”

Her voice was filled with anguish and Draco flinched before his eyes shuttered in the starlight.

“Come on. Let’s get you to your room. Pinky.”

Pinky appeared at Draco’s call and Draco stood, handing Hermione her dress to cover herself
before he turned around to don his own clothing that he’d somehow found in the darkness.

“Please Apparate you both back to her room and make sure she’s fed before she rests.”

“Of course Master Draco. Please, give me your hand, Mistress Hermione.”

Hermione couldn’t move, though. She could only focus on the hard muscles rippling on his back,
the deep cut of his figure in the pale moonlight.

“Draco, I didn’t mean—”

“I’m quite sure I know what you meant, Granger. Goodnight.”

His voice cut through the sounds of the twinkling nature as sharp as a crack of a whip, and
suddenly it was only an echo of him as he Apparated away, leaving Hermione alone in the gardens
with Pinky and her dress draped over her naked body.

It was only when she was in her room later, dressed for bed and properly bathed that she felt the
first drop of tears on her pillow.

They didn’t stop until she cried herself to sleep.

***

Narcissa Malfoy sat at her table with her House Elf, stirring her tea for her before Pinky reached
out to grab her cup from her employer.

Narcissa conjured a letter wandlessly, the parchment full of pertinent and already signed, ready to
go.

“Pinky, dear, please see that this letter is sent off to one Rita Skeeter at the Daily Prophet. I have an
exclusive story for her, and I believe it best to break the news of a budding relationship so that one
can get in front of it ahead of time.”

“Of course, Mistress Narcissa. That is a very smart idea. Very smart, indeed.”

Narcissa smiled sweetly into her teacup, wedding plans already forming in the back of her mind
while she formulated ideas on how to control the coming media frenzy.

“If I can’t control the fact that my children will be written about, then I’ll just have to control the
narrative in which they’re written from.”
Chapter End Notes

Hello my lovely readers! What did you all think of this chapter? Hermione out in the wild,
coming soon! More characters, reactions, some of my favorite scenes coming and more!

Until next time my lovely readers,

Kristen :)

Link to the Spotify Playlist:

Link to Spotify Playlist For This Story
 Chapter 31
Chapter Notes

Song for the chapter:

Sin in Your Skin by Aidan Martin

See the end of the chapter for more notes

July 1st, 2005

Draco sat stoically at the dining table in the cottage waiting for Granger as he crumpled up the
missive from the Ministry in his fist.

Of fucking course Robards wanted to see her first thing in the morning after that disastrous ending
to their night.

He could still remember the devastating blue surrounding her aura after he turned away from her—
it was so bright it lit up the air around him from her sorrow with what they’d just done together.

Sure, he knew she lusted for him if her aura was anything to go by, but anything more? Was the
gold that was starting to peek through in her aura when he was around simply a trick of the light?

He hadn’t wanted to take advantage of her in the moment. When he fucked Granger, it was going to
be when they both had clear heads. He might even have to save it for their wedding night, if her
reluctance was anything to go by.

He could still remember the heartbreak in her voice when asking what they’d done. Maybe she was
rethinking everything, and would’ve rather died than be bonded with him.

Well, it was too bad because he didn’t care if she was miserable for the rest of her fucking life—he
would bind himself to her a million times over if it meant saving her life.

Alright, well, he wouldn’t like for her to be miserable, that much was obvious—but at least she’d
be alive.

He’d do everything in his power to make sure that she was cared for and happy for the rest of her
life—the life that they’d be sharing together—but if that meant staying away from her and giving
her space to live her life how she wanted it, then that was what he’d do for her.

“Pinky.”
The House Elf who’d become more of a companion than an employee for the Malfoy family
appeared with a sad tinge to her aura and Draco scrutinized her, searching for signs of her distress,
but found none.

“Yes, Master Draco?”

“Please make sure Hermione is ready to leave in fifteen minutes. We are due at the Ministry.”

Pinky’s eyes grew wide and she Apparated away after telling him goodbye in that high-pitched
squeak of hers that she emitted when she was surprised by something.

He wished he could’ve given Granger a longer heads-up, but seeing as his own notice had only just
been delivered, there wasn’t time for anything aside from dressing and Flooing to the Ministry.

He wondered how she would act around him after the way he’d rebuffed her advances. It was
physically painful to withdraw from her the night before, but he would stand by his decision—it
was the right choice, no matter how much it hurt.

Ten minutes later and Draco was up and pacing down the length of the hallway to the sitting room,
desperately anxious to see her. It was like thee was a tangible thread between the two of them, and
not following her to her bed the night before was excruciating, this thrumming golden string that
emanated from her that connected to the stained soul in his chest.

He was just beginning to contemplate opening the last bottle of Firewhiskey he would ever buy
when her footsteps sounded on the stairs.

Her aura shone from the corners of his eyes, but he was terrified to meet her stare head-on.

Instead, he chose to glance at her hair, done up in a half-up, half-down manner with curls spilling
down her shoulders and back like silken drapery, her colors an abundant mixture of bubbling
maroon indicative of her irritation and a color that was so close to gold that his heart skipped a few
times. But no, it was only a piercing yellow, the proof of her confusion most likely in the form of
her questioning why he’d pulled away from her in the first place the night before.

The answer to that question was more than complicated, however, and Draco finally met the stare
of her amber eyes and sucked in a breath at the indifference he found in there, not the usual fire or
reverence he was used to seeing in her gaze.

He cleared his throat and glanced at his watch.

“Robards has requested us at the Ministry immediately. Are you feeling up to Floo travel?”

“I suppose I’ll have to be, considering he’s demanding to see me as well as you. Let’s get this over
with, then.”

Draco cringed inwardly at her words, feeling them directed toward him more than anything.

“I can only hope the news has died down and there won’t be much attention on us.”

“The news?”

Granger stared at him with a mocking glint in her eyes.

“Haven’t you heard? I’m dying.”

Draco was at her side in an instant, not understanding where his newfound speed had come from,
but suddenly his hand was on her elbow and her gaze had turned from something indifferent to
completely wonder-struck at his actions.

“Not if I have anything to say about it, you’re not.”

Granger gulped and shook her head, the motion sending a wafting breeze of air scented with her
sugared jasmine signature scent that had him clenching his teeth to keep himself from reaching out
with his mouth to taste it off of her skin.

The thought scent ideas unbidden racing through his lust-addled mind and Granger backed up a
step, out of his grasp once more, and the desire cleared long enough for him to realize the plum
colored need swirling around in her aura so intense Draco had to blink his eyes a few times to make
sure he wasn’t seeing things.

But no, her aura was back to the same yellow and maroon it had been when she’d descended the
stairs, her work robes dark navy and pristine against the backdrop of her emotional well behind her.

“Well, then,” Draco said, feigning nonchalance even despite the fact that he knew she could taste or
scent his desire just as clearly as he could see hers.

“Shall we?”

Granger ignored the offered arm he’d reached out toward her and his stomach sank.

He knew he’d been right to have her go to bed alone the night before, he just didn’t realize how
much the aftermath of that decision would cost him—the steady footing in the ‘relationship’ he’d
had with Granger was suddenly null and void, and it was almost worse than when they’d been
complete strangers with a clean slate after the war.

At least then he hadn’t done anything to completely fuck things up then.

He didn’t look at her as he threw the Floo powder in the hearth before speaking aloud “Ministry of
Magic” and landed in the fireplace of Hermione Granger’s office—the one Floo connection set up
between the Ministry and the cottage.

He only had moments before Granger came barreling through the same fireplace, relief on her face
that they hadn’t landed anywhere too public.

“Well, at least Skeeter won’t be able to get photos of me here in my own department.”

Draco led the way out of her office, noting the fact that she hadn’t been back since that fateful day
of the explosion when they’d had tea with Pansy just moments before the chaos ensued.

Granger passed by him through the door he held open for her without so much as a backward
glance at him, and the cold shoulder had him grinding his teeth and inspecting the floor of the
DMLE for threats that he logically knew wouldn’t be there considering the fact that they’d captured
the entire regime of Death Eaters in their dungeons, but one could never be too safe when it came
to the Golden Girl.
Granger stopped short in the middle of the floor, however, when a familiar mop of dark, unruly hair
popped up out of the blue in front of her.

“Robards is on a tear this morning, thank Merlin you’re here. You know you’re his favorite, right?”

Granger snorted.

“Only because he knows I pick up the slack in this department so he can take a much needed break.
Lead the way.”

Draco avoided all the pointed stares as he and Granger strode through the department with the
“savior” of the wizarding world in front of them.

More than a few whispers and points were thrown their way and Draco was aware of the attention
on them being more than normal, though he wasn’t quire sure why. Of course, it could be because
Granger was finally back to work after the explosion and news of her ‘terminal’ illness had already
spread, so surely that would boost interest in the public, but in the bullpen? In the DMLE, where
Aurors knew to keep their heads down and their business to themselves?

Draco rolled his shoulders as they entered the office of their boss who’d just been in the middle of
tearing into an intern, but his disposition brightened significantly upon seeing Granger.

“Hermione! It’s so good to see you back on your feet—and look at you—you’re absolutely
glowing. Malfoy—whatever you’ve been doing, keep it up. Our girl will be perfectly healthy and in
the clear in no time, isn’t that right, Potter?”

The intern scurried away without (thankfully) asking any questions, and shut the door quiet as a
mouse so as to not arouse anymore attention than he already had.

“Gawain, it’s lovely to see you again as always. I’m definitely ready to get back to work, that much
is certain,” Granger responded, wisely ignoring the quip about whatever Draco had been doing to
make her ‘glow’.

If anything, he made her gleam with irritation, if that maroon in her aura still holding strong was
any indication.

“Please sit, sit, I want to talk to you about our plan of action moving forward.”

They did as he asked and Robards turned to Potter first.

“Potter here did a wonderful job leading the raid and we’ve severely crippled—if not outright
decimated—the entire population of remaining Death Eaters still holding out for a resurgence. We
haven’t found their leader, Greyback, yet—but we’re positive that he’ll die off on his own without
his followers as it stands. Now, this leaves something of a problem for us, however.”

“I’d assume so,” Granger started, shifting in her chair as she placed her hands in her lap and tried
not to fidget with her left arm, and Draco’s gut roiled as he remembered which arm her poisoned
mark was on.

“You were having problems with overcrowding in Azkaban even before you conducted this raid
and captured the rest of them. How many do you need me to perform, and how soon? I’ll want to
continue my normal duties in office soon, and I’ll have to plan the rituals accordingly in order to
remain on top of things.”

Draco recoiled in his seat slightly as he took in her words, how blasé she was being about the
siphoning process. He’d witnessed her as she floated in the air like an ethereal, dark goddess of
vengeance, and the after effects of it as well.

How would the siphoning affect the bond they were creating with each other, as well? Would it
dampen her magical signature and make it harder for hers to latch onto the ancestral family magical
core that would keep her alive forever?

Draco was just about to interrupt when Robards sat forward with his hands braced in front of him
as he took in Granger with a distant kind of fondness that a teacher might reserve for their favorite
student.

“I just love how quickly you can get to the point, Granger. We’ll need you to perform one today, at
least, and then two more this week. Three a week, more if possible. Is that something you can do?”

It would strengthen her, that was certain. But what about the untested repercussions?

“No.”

Granger whipped her head toward Draco, confusion and anger warring for dominance both in her
eyes and in her aura.

“Excuse me? What do you mean, no?”

“I mean no, Granger. What the fuck do you think the word means? N-O, you are not performing
three rituals a week. Maybe try one, and then we’ll see how it affects you. You have no idea what
these rituals could do when coupled with the bonding rites are happening at the same time. How are
we supposed to make sure the bond actually sticks and isn’t affected by all this dark magic you’re
siphoning?”

“It’s kept me alive this long.”

“And makes your magic unpredictable, as well as your normally sunny disposition.”

Draco’s words were cold and sarcastic, and Granger’s eye twitched as she crossed her arms and
settled in for a fight in front of Robards and Potter, who’d yet to speak a word since the meeting
began.

“You heard him—Azkaban is full, and—”

“Then put them in another bloody prison! Are we not wizards? Can we not build infrastructure in
days?”

“And where do you suggest we get the funding, permits, and zoning rights for this magical prison
you think you can just whip up out of thin air?”

“Granger. You do realize my vaults could fund a hundred thousand prisons and my future
descendants could still live out their days in luxury, yes?”

“Well, that’s all well and good, Malfoy but you can’t just—”
“I can, and I will. You are not going to overwork yourself while you’re actively dying Granger, and
that is the end of that.”

“I told you you can’t tell me what to do.”

Her teeth were bared and her chest was heaving with the exertion of keeping her anger in check.

She’d never looked more bloody irresistible to him.

“And I told you that when it comes to your safety, I am the one in charge, since you clearly can’t be
bothered to take care of yourself.”

“I—”

Granger was cut off from her steaming tirade when Robards cleared his throat and Potter finally
spoke up.

“Okay, this is getting us nowhere. Robards, I’m sure considering Hermione’s…condition, and
Malfoy’s willingness to help find better accommodations for the prisoners that one ritual per week
is acceptable, yes?”

“Yes, of course Potter you’re right. Hermione, you need to take it slow and ease back into the job,
I’m sorry I got a bit overzealous in my plans, but Malfoy is right, as is Potter. One ritual a week,
starting today with the prisoner you had on the docket the day of the explosion, Parkinson Sr. How
does that sound?”

Granger was still seething, her aura dark red and blackened around the edges.

“That sounds perfect, boss. Please send me the paperwork so that I can get started on the
preparations. In the meantime, can I ask Janice for all the work I’ve missed?”

“Yes, that should be good. Janice had been assigned to another Auror while you were out, but she’s
back at her desk as of this morning when I told her you’d be coming in.”

“Perfect, thank you.”

“Of course, Hermione. Now, Malfoy—your hearing is set for this Friday, and Hermione I want you
to be there as well. It’ll be a closed hearing, but press will be allowed considering the fact that the
Ministry is trying to be more transparent, but only those reporters that filed for a press badge
through the DMLE will be able to be present, so it won’t be a complete circus. Friday at noon, I’ll
have Janice put it on your schedule, Hermione.”

“Perfect, thank you Gawain.”

Draco rolled his eyes as they both used each other’s first names to call each other by and yet she’d
committed to reverting back to calling him by his last name right when she’d started calling him
Draco to his face.

He hated the fact that he enjoyed her saying his first name so much.

“Malfoy? That work for your schedule?”

“My schedule is Granger’s schedule, sir. It works for me.”

“Great. I’ll see you both then, if not before then. You’re dismissed.”

Draco stood and left with Potter and Granger, but not before Potter grabbed Granger’s arm and
pulled her to the side to talk.

Much as Draco wanted to eavesdrop, however, he gave them the respect he would’ve wanted and
kept watch instead by a nearby cubicle, a frazzled looking assistant staring up at him with wide,
astonished eyes at who was at her desk.

Draco rolled his eyes and waited for his witch to finish speaking to her friend so he could finally
speak to her instead.

He should’ve known he never got what he wished for.

***

“Hermione, what was all that back in the office? I thought you two were…you know…getting
along?”

Hermione sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose while watching Draco from the corner of her
eye.

“Yes, well, things changed. We had our first ritual, and now things are just…weird. I don’t know.”

“Alright, well, if you ever need to vent you know I’m here. I actually wanted to talk to you about
something. It’s Ron.”

“Oh gods. Alright, out with it, quickly. I don’t have all day to ponder the musings of my ex-
boyfriend who cheated on me and clearly doesn’t wish to rekindle a friendship with me, not like I’d
be up for something like that anyway.”

Harry shifted on his feet, and Hermione was sure she hadn’t seen him look so nervous in all her
years knowing him, including the night before each task of the Triwizard Tournament or facing up
to Voldemort himself in battle.

“No, no I’ll be quick. It’s just—he’s, um, seen the article this morning.”

“What article?”

Harry’s face grew sickly pale in the office lighting and Hermione prepared herself for the worst.

“Maybe you should read it for yourself. Apparently, Narcissa took it upon herself to give an
interview, and show her support for the relationship between you and…her son.”

“She did what?”

“I’m sorry, I really thought you already knew. Anyways, Ron is in quite a fit about everything, so I
just wanted to warn you that if he tries to approach you today, please just turn the other way. I don’t
want you to have to deal with him today when he’s like that—you don’t deserve that. I’ve already
talked to him and told him to stay out of your way, but—well, you know how he is. He’s already on
the thinnest of ice with me, but since he’s Ginny’s brother, I’m trying to make it work, for her.
She’s already lost one brother, I don’t think she could handle losing another.”

“Of course I don’t want you to lose a lifelong friendship out of some kind of solidarity for me,
Harry, but I for one will not be suffering in his presence unless mandated by the Ministry. If he does
stumble across my path and say something unseemly, I know how to handle myself in that
situation. As for the article…well, let’s just say that Rita Skeeter will not be getting a press pass for
the DLME—ever.”

“Understood. Really, Hermione, you think I’d let her get a press pass after the stunts she’s pulled
throughout the years? I think Lavender’s going to be the one covering the hearing Friday.”

Hermione groaned into her hands.

“That’s even worse.”

“Don’t worry, it’ll all be alright.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so. I am the savior of the entire wizarding world, after all. What I say is law.”

Hermione only laughed as she pushed off the wall she’d been leaning on and strode toward the loo
that was just to the left of her office.

She felt Draco’s presence, tasted his emotions—before she saw him, and the tempestuous anger
writhed within her like a Leviathan on choppy seas.

She turned and was met with Draco at her chest, a hairsbreadth away from her as she breathed in
his air and tasted the smoky cinnamon of his emotions, a bittersweet chocolate tinge of sorrow in
the mix somewhere.

What did he have to be feeling sorrowful about? He was the one who’d snubbed her the night
before, after all.

Hermione crossed her arms and turned her nose up at him, hoping that her false bravado could
shine through in the colorful aura she knew that Draco could see of her emotions just as she could
sense with his.

“You don’t have to follow me everywhere—you know you’re just a glorified bodyguard at this
point, right?”

He was so close to her she could see the storm clouds roiling around in his eyes and taste the
cinnamon with cherries that was slowly lurking under the surface, like an aftertaste always there in
the background.

Draco’s mouth pulled down into a sneer as he gripped her elbow like he’d done earlier and electric
sparks slid down her skin, an array of chills lining up and down her arms as he pulled her aside into
an empty conference room, seemingly unaware of the chemical reaction he’d caused in her. The
lights were off and she could barely see two feet in front of her as Draco slammed the door shut
behind them and then he was on her.
She was against the closed door and his arms were beside her head, caging her in.

Hermione’s mind fought to keep up with the changing attitudes that Draco seemed to cycle through
in varying moments.

“I’m a lot more than that, Granger, and you know it.”

His husky voice rocked Hermione out of her reverie, and she ignored the lust in his aura. The
passion, the sorrow—especially the drop of honey that refused to abate whenever he was near.

“And what exactly is it that I know, Malfoy? That I trapped you into a soul bond you didn’t even
want in the first place? Just—forget it, I have paperwork to fill out. Let me go.”

Draco slammed a hand against the door by her head, but she didn’t flinch. She didn’t break contact
with his eyes as he sized her up and bared his teeth, sizing up his prey.

“Are you forgetting who suggested this bond in the first place? Do you really think I would’ve
allowed for this to happen if I didn’t want to move forward with this between us?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think, clearly. You obviously only did this out of guilt, just like I thought.”

“Oh, Granger. I’m getting very tired of you thinking you know everything.”

And then his lips were on hers and—oh, gods, those were real sparks shooting off their skin where
they touched, illuminating the room around them until they were basked in a warm afterglow as
warm as the sun and his lips were heaven and that honey was all encompassing and all she could
taste until that sugary, cherry taste infiltrated her mouth just as his tongue swirled around her own
and she moaned into his mouth and the rest of the world and the glowing lights and sparks
dissipated until they were lone entities in an empty universe only filled with their heat and passion
and never-ending need.

The cinnamon in her nose flared as Draco’s arms lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around his
waist, all the while moulding her mouth to his in a desperate attempt to quell this raging pursuit of
more, more, more exploding inside of her, urging her forward until she couldn’t tell where she
ended and he began.

She moaned into his mouth as his hands went wandering, his touch palming her breast through her
robes, clutching the skin of her thigh tight enough to send jolts of pleasure dashing through her
body to the apex of her thighs.

“Malfoy," she whimpered out, unable to control her voice as his touch unlocked the part of her
brain that told her to be difficult, fo fight him with everything she had, because if she fought him
then she didn’t give in, and if she didn’t give in, then he wouldn’t have a foothold in her heart to
hurt her with eventually.

He tore his mouth from hers, teeth scraping and biting against her neck until she was writhing
mindlessly against him as one of his hands reached up and captured her wrists against the door and
held them above her head, the other hand propping her up to make sure that she didn’t slide down
to the floor in their frenzy.

“Say my name, Granger.”

Hermione knocked her head back against the door, gulping down breath after breath until she was
panting beneath him.

“Malfoy,” she choked out, whimpering in that exquisite blend of pleasure-pain that she only ever
languished in when it came to him when he bit down on the skin of her neck just hard enough to
make her pay attention.

“My name, Granger. Or have you forgotten that it’ll be your name soon, too?”

His voice was filled with gravel and craving, and she found herself arching her body closer and
closer still, until her chest was shoved out to him as if in offering at his pedestal.

She could feel the dam about to burst forth, the lust taking over as he parted the folds of her robes.

As he slipped beneath the waistband of the trousers Pinky had laid out for her in the same shade of
navy blue as her robes.

As he toyed with the line of her panties.

As he snuck past her last defenses and captured her lips in a kiss that wasn’t searing in a way that
begged for her desire to match his—no, this kiss gave her the truth—his truth, in the way that his
lips folded across hers firm and slow, his touch delicate but his hold punishing and demanding.

His mouth slanted over hers in a yearning declaration of something stronger than the passion
coiling in her gut, in the desperation or guilt that made his decision to bind his soul to hers forever.

She now knew the answer, suddenly, and the clarity of it pulled the breath from her lungs just as
surely as the honey crept onto her tongue.

“Draco!”

She cried his name in pure ecstasy the moment his fingers decided to stop playing around and
pushed past her boundaries, two digits ensconced inside of her and their punishing pace that he set
in reward for her gifting him his first name from her lips was exquisite torture.

She rolled her hips as an earth-shattering moan of pleasure dropped from her lips and she startled
when his hand came up to cover her mouth with it, dropping her hands as he did so.

“Quiet, Darling, otherwise the rest of the Ministry will know how prettily you scream my name.”

The moment her hands were free she plunged them into his platinum locks, twisting the hair around
her fingers as she fought through tremors and spasms, his mouth reclaiming hers and pushing his
tongue into her mouth as he did so.

She squirmed in his hold as her eyes fell to the back of her head, Draco’s touch scalding her from
the inside out as he set a relentless pace, his fingers curling inside of her walls and reaching her
most sensitive place, the stretch of her against him and the push-and-pull of him only heightening
the sensations of doing something so forbidden and taboo in the heart of the Ministry itself.

She whimpered once more, whining into his mouth and his lips stretched into his signature smirk
that she would recognize even in the pitch darkness of the empty conference room.

“That’s it, Granger. Show me how much you love what I do to you.”
She obliged happily, hands desperate and clutching him ever closer toward her as his fingers grew
relentless, slamming into her while also taking a few moments to withdraw and slowly pump in and
out before that hungry, almost angry pace resumed.

She trembled within his grasp, her breathing labored, and Draco could tell from the way she
clenched around his fingers that she was close, because he leaned forward to whisper in her ear
after taking the lobe between his teeth briefly.

“Not yet, Granger. I want to hear you beg for it.”

“P-please,” she started, voice breathy and dangerously close to pitching over the edge of something
she couldn’t return from, no matter how much he craved her submission—or how much she craved
his dominance.

“What was that, Darling? I didn’t quite hear you.”

He slowed his ministrations on her body, and she groaned in desperation to get him to continue his
previous punishing pace.

“Please, please, please,” she chanted, over and over again, just hoping that it would appease him
enough to finish her off.

“Say I’m yours,” he demanded, and she stuttered her eyes open half-lidded, to find his stare heavy
on her even despite the darkness that had fallen after their skin-glow had dissipated.

Honey flooded her senses and she swelled with something strongly resembling adoration toward
this man that she hardly even knew, this man who drove her absolutely insane and never met a wall
he couldn’t argue with. This man…who stepped up to the plate and found a cure for her within days
whereas she’d tried everything she could think of for seven whole years.

This man—this gorgeous, devastatingly perfect man with scars that ran as deep as hers that still cut
just as sharp even after all this time.

This man who took care of his House Elf like she was family, and had come out of the war a
completely different person—not a scrawny shell of the boy he once was—but a real man. The man
that stood before her that day was the product of his upbringing in a fanatic culture that had finally
dissected his past and chosen a different—better—path.

And she was sure that it was more than just a little ‘attraction’ that she was feeling for him, no
matter how little she wanted to closely interpret that feeling.

Still, she was sure it shone forth on her face—and in her aura—and the wonder on Draco’s face was
nothing compared to the sweet taste of watermelon on her tongue that offset the honey, but not by
much.

Which was why she didn’t hesitate in giving him what he’d asked for.

“I’m yours,” she gave to him in a broken whisper, but she didn’t stop there.

“Say you’re mine,” she repeated back to him and he closed his eyes once before his fingers pushed
in further, his hand curling at a different angle until his thumb brushed the bundle of nerves above
her entrance.
She stiffened and moaned into his neck where she buried herself to ride out the coming waves of
ecstasy, but his free hand gripped the column of her neck to force her stare back to his eyes.

“I am yours, Hermione Granger. Now, and always—in this life and the next.”

She shattered with his first name on her tongue, and he tasted like honey as he watched her unfold
before his eyes.

They had one moment, two, three—to recover and breathe each other in before someone tried the
handle of the door that Draco had locked with a quick warding spell on their way in.

Wide-eyed, Hermione ambled out of his grasp and groaned at the feel of his thick, hard length in
his pants that she didn’t get to explore yet at all and resigned herself to waiting until the next time
they could be alone when the wards that Draco must’ve thrown up haphazardly were quickly
disarmed.

She straightened her hair and clothes, watching bemused as Draco did the same, but their
mischievous attitudes after having just been caught at work turned to turmoil inside of Hermione
the moment her eyes locked with the clear blue stare of Ronald Weasley.

He took one look at their appearances and the obvious evidence of what they’d been doing together
in that room, and opened his mouth to go on a tirade.

Until a slender hand grasped his shoulder, manicured and all, and Hermione felt her stomach swoop
to the ground.

“Ron, dear, I think this one’s taken.”

It was so similar to what Lavender had said to her back in sixth year at Hogwarts that Hermione
wanted to scream in outrage at the situation. The moment she was escaping Ron and the anger her
memories with him brought up due to the fact that he’d cheated on her for quite some time without
her knowing, he popped right back up again to ruin everything.

“Hermione, what the bloody hell—”

“Draco, it’s lovely to see you again. I haven’t heard from you in years.”

“Daphne. There’s a reason for that, if you’ll recall.”

Daphne Greengrass eyed Hermione and Draco like dirt on the bottom of her shoe.

“Yes, after what you did to my sister, all I can say is Hermione, sweetheart, you can do so much
better.”

Hermione only arched one eyebrow at the girl in front of her and plastered on the smirk she’d
learned from Draco.

“No, that’s where you’re wrong.”

“Oh?”

Daphne eyed Hermione up like she was preparing for a fight.

 Too bad Hermione had already won, if the wizard standing at her side was anything to go by.

“Yes, I’ve already done so much better, as you’ve put it, considering the lows I’ve stooped to in the
past. Thanks for cleaning up and taking care of my leftovers, though. Let me know how that works
out for you. Draco, would you like to have lunch in my office? There’s this new restaurant I want to
try, and they deliver right to our floor.”

Hermione continued blathering on about some new Italian restaurant while Draco shouldered past
Ron and Daphne and Hermione followed behind him, her legs still shaking from an earth-shattering
orgasm and then facing her ex and his new girlfriend in the very same breath, but she didn’t spare
either of them a backward glance as she stepped forward into her department, following behind the
man tasked with keeping her safe.

Ron was too gobsmacked to say another word.

As she followed Draco to her office, however, she only hoped that the rest of the day would go by
peacefully, as the scar in her arm was starting to throb with the stresses of what was to come, and
she was desperate for more alone time with Draco to maybe get a peek at what he’d been hiding in
his trousers this whole time.

She knew that was too good to be true when one Pansy Parkinson stormed into her office the
moment Hermione entered behind Draco, holding up a copy of that morning’s Daily Prophet.

“Care to explain what in the bloody fuck this is?”

Chapter End Notes

Hello my lovely readers! Sorry for the delay of the update, I'm really trying to stick to every
few days updating, but when I can't make that deadline, I'll try to make the chapter extra long
for you! What did you think of this chapter? What do you think will happen next? What do
you WANT to happen next?

Please let me know your thoughts--I absolutely adore each and every one of your comments
and even if I don't get a chance to properly respond, I promise I squeal a little (Okay, maybe a
lot) every time I see a comment notification for this story!!

Until next time my lovely readers,

Kristen :)
 Chapter 32
Chapter Notes

Song for this chapter:

Snow Angel by Reneé Rapp

See the end of the chapter for more notes

July 1st, 2005

Pansy Parkinson always did have a flair for the dramatics.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to be a bit more specific, Pansy,” Draco intoned from inside
Hermione’s office, the sarcasm all but edible in the air around them.

“Oh, don’t tell me you haven’t seen it?”

Pansy laid the newspaper across Hermione’s desk with a flourish and Hermione had to hide her
gasp of surprise behind a small cough in her fist.

“It gets better. Read it.”

Hermione and Draco both leaned forward to take the article in—a photo of the two of them on the
front page that had been taken at the gala at Malfoy Manor before Draco had even been assigned to
her case—before any of this had even started.

Her eyes shone with glittering passion and half-concealed irritation at the Malfoy heir who had her
hands clasped within his, but his eyes were captivated with her form, appraising her up and down
as the photo moved with their dancing.

His lips had just formed a half smirk when the cycle of the photo repeated again.

Hermione pulled her eyes from the photo to read the article below.

DRACO MALFOY IN LOVE WITH GOLDEN GIRL HERMIONE GRANGER?—AN

EXCLUSIVE FROM NARCISSA MALFOY
By Rita Skeeter
1 July, 2005
The Daily Prophet

“I truly consider her to be my daughter now, as the love these two share for each other is as clear
as the magic that runs through their veins. Hermione will be a cherished addition to the Malfoy
family when the two decide to make their relationship permanent and, if I’m being candid, I believe
wedding bells are on the horizon for these two promising young ones. Life is fleeting, but love is
forever.” —Narcissa Malfoy

This article could not begin with a better quote than that received by me from the Malfoy matriarch
through mail. Narcissa Malfoy first contacted me a few days ago to inform me of a blossoming
relationship between her son, reformed wizard Draco Malfoy, and our favorite war heroine, savior
of the wizarding world—Hermione Granger.

Naturally, as a journalist, I was a skeptic. How could these two childhood enemies turned
coworkers make a relationship so sordid like this last? Especially with Miss Granger’s worsening
condition thanks to a poison in her body that was slowly killing her? Read on for the interview with
Lady Malfoy herself to find out!

How did Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger begin a romantic relationship at all? Weren’t the
two sworn enemies?

Narcissa: “What a lovely question. It certainly wasn’t easy—they both began running into each
other more and more at work, and it was only a matter of time for their true feelings to develop.
When they were placed on a similar case, things just developed from there. I truly believe it was
meant to be between the two of them.”

And what of their hatred of one another, documented by other students at Hogwarts?

Narcissa: “Fighting a traumatic war tends to change a person’s character, after all. My son is not
who he was at school, and I’m sure neither is anyone who fought in the awful war that harmed so
many. We’ve disavowed the harmful rhetoric espoused by blood purists and have been on the road
to recovery in making up for our family’s past deeds. I’m sure Miss Granger saw our family’s
remorse and accepted my son’s sincerest apology, though I was not present for any such
conversation.”

Speaking of Miss Granger—how is she dealing with dying and starting a new romance at the
same time? Surely something like this is taxing on her body? Some could even argue that you’re
using Miss Granger as a tool to allow your family to be seen in a better light. What do you say to
these accusations?

Narcissa: “I say that Miss Granger is not dying on our watch, and the entire wizarding world can
be sure of that. We have treated her condition with the utmost care and respect, and she has done
nothing but flourish under the careful attentions of my son. As for the baseless accusations of using
Miss Granger to further our status I say let time do the talking. Let the world see how their
relationship unfolds and let time be the judge, because nothing I say could change the minds of our
critics, but perhaps their happiness might.”

Those are some strong ideals, Miss Malfoy. And what of your past blood purity ideals? They
have no standing here?

Narcissa: “Of course not. We haven’t held those ideologies for quite some time and, if you’ll refer
to previous trials which found both myself and my son innocent, you’ll find that we were coerced
into pledging allegiance to a cause we did not believe in for the safety of our loved ones. Hermione
Granger is a fierce, powerful, beautiful witch, and her magic rivals that of my own in its strength.
She is as much a witch as those of the purest undiluted bloodlines. Blood does not make a witch or
wizard—the magic in their veins does. We’d be lucky to have her in our family.”
So you expect to have Miss Granger in your family at some point in the future? You believe these
two will be wed?

Narcissa: “I believe it is only a matter of time before the two marry. I am overjoyed to have her
join our family, and can’t wait to begin wedding preparations.”

And I hope The Daily Prophet will be invited to the engagement celebrations?

Narcissa: “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And there you have it! Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger will most likely be engaged before the
year is out, and married this time next year if most Pureblood traditions are to be cited. We’ll be
conducting a poll on the next few pages so please answer how you feel about this new couple, as
well as your thoughts on two of our three Golden Trio members being romantically attached to
Slytherins with sympathetic connections to the Dark.

(If you skip to page 13, you’ll see a timeline of links connecting Draco Malfoy to our Golden Girl).

For more information about Hermione Granger’s condition and the opinions of multiple Healers
on how she’s going to survive, please refer to page 14.

Rita Skeeter
—Editor in Chief, The Daily Prophet

Pansy was waiting patiently, arms crossed over her chest when Hermione finally lifted her eyes
from the article and placed a shaking hand on Draco’s arm for support.

He had her glued to his side immediately, wrapping a hand around her waist and crushing her body
into his while she sucked in air scented with his irritation and tasting of his confusion, a mixture of
lemon and cucumber.

Pansy’s emotions were swimming with strawberry candied mischief and lavender happiness,
though at what she was happy about, Hermione couldn’t determine due to the angry look on her
face.

“So, it’s true, then?” She asked, waving her hand between the two of them as she leaned on Draco
for support.

Draco’s face was pained with the knowledge that he would have to explain everything to his best
friend that he hadn’t seemed to confide much in if the sudden ambush was any indication.

Draco’s fingers rubbed soothing circles on Hermione’s side and she sighed, leaning further into his
embrace while he curled her in tightly, uncaring of Pansy eyeing them with wide eyed shock,
watermelon tinged wonder dripping from her senses.

“Yes, its true, though the reason we’re together wasn’t revealed, and it would be nice if we could
keep this to ourselves.”

“Bullshit! I’m definitely telling Theo—wait, does Theo already know?”

“No, Theo does not know. Robards, Potter, and my parents know—”
“Wait! Boy-wonder got to know before me? What a load of—”

“I don’t actually have to tell you, you know that right?”

Pansy remained quiet while shifting on the balls of her feet, clearly impatient to learn the truth.

“I’m going to bind my soul to Granger’s.”

“You’re going to WHAT?”

Pansy’s eyes nearly fell out of her skull from how wide they’d gone, her face going bloodless as
she swayed on the spot.

“I’m sorry, I need to sit down. You’re seriously considering doing the binding? That’s…I thought
you said you never wanted to do that? That you’d never shackle anyone to yourself for eternity?
That it was all just meaningless and love wouldn’t actually come from an arranged marriage?”

Hermione untangled herself from Draco’s embrace at Pansy’s words, wishing she’d saved those
questions for when the two of them were alone and could discuss this amongst themselves instead
of in front of Hermione.

Draco’s temper flared in his aura and she could only imagine what kind of colors she was giving off
because of what Pansy had said.

“I mean, of course, that’s not to say that he feels that way now, Granger—”

“She’s dying, Pansy. If we bind our souls together, my family’s ancestral magic will protect her,
and keep her alive. It will heal her.”

“So, then—Narcissa lied? You two aren’t really in love and all that other shite she tried to sell to
everyone?”

Hermione stiffened, Awaiting Draco’s answer.

Because she was surely not going to answer that question for herself, shaking her head with an eye-
roll as she found her seat behind her desk, finding a mountain of paperwork awaiting her.

“We haven’t really discussed feelings yet, Pansy. I don’t know why my mother decided to go public
so soon after the last Death Eaters were brought in—she made it clear where Granger was staying
during her recovery from the Ministry attack. I’ll have to double up on my efforts of warding the
Manor’s grounds—”

Draco was interrupted by Pansy’s unaffected snort while she lounged on one of Hermione’s office
chairs. The same one she’d sat in the day the Ministry was attacked.

“Oh, please. Not even Merlin himself, resurrected with the power of ten thousand wizards could
break through the blood wards, the contingencies, the traps, the curses, the—”

“It doesn’t matter! Greyback is still out there, and the cottage—”

“She’s staying at the cottage with you still? Oh, is that where you’re going to be raising your five
children once you’re married, then? Or will it be ten children? I’m not sure how many kids come
from true love after all.”
“Oh, ten children is far too many. We’ll obviously have nine, and name them all Draco Malfoy
Junior, even the girls.”

Draco rounded her desk to place his hands on her shoulders as Pansy snorted a laugh.

“Very funny, Granger. I’m being serious though—Draco, have you truly thought this through?”

“Considering we’ve already undergone the first three steps of the binding ceremony and completed
the first major ritual—yes, I have most definitely thought this through, and if you mean to insult
Hermione again by insinuating I don’t want this somehow, you can leave just as easily as you
walked through those doors.”

Lemon and smoke warred between irritation and anger in Draco’s aura. Hermione glanced up at
him to find his jawline sharp and his eyes cutting, steel slicing through diamonds in his gaze.

His hands tensed on her shoulders and she reached a hand up to cover one of his own on her
shoulder, his temper calming as the scent of roses washed over the anger—calmness exuding from
him for the first time since she’d been able to sense his emotions.

“Touchy, touchy. Alright, I’m sorry—I just can’t wrap my head around eternity, for me at least.
Good on the two of you, then. So—I’m not here on purely a social call. My father—I haven’t heard
a peep about his execution since the day of the attack.”

“Yes, that’s because his execution was delayed due to the attack. It’s set to be rescheduled for
today. I’m sorry—you still can’t see him before, or afterwards.”

“That’s fine. I just want you to give him this, and I want you to tell me anything that he says after
he reads it.”

She produced a letter from her pocket and stood to place it on Hermione’s desk.

Her smile was fierce as she bared her teeth.

“I want to know that bastard suffered.”

***

Draco watched Granger walk stiffly to that room in the dungeons where she’d be performing the
magic siphoning ritual, and his chest strained at the thoughts of her taking on all that dark magic
that would most surely taint her if the stories of what Parkinson Sr. did to his daughter was
anything to go by.

Granger stopped before the door and turned to him, eyes wary and aura clear save for the fear
blackening her edges.

Without thought he reached out and pulled her chest flush with his.

“Need me in there, Granger?”

Thankful they were without an audience for once, she melted into him and she turned a beautiful
shade of lavender only slightly marred by her fear. Calm, yet scared at the same time.

He thought she should’ve been maroon and gold for Gryffindor bravery.

Gold was reserved for a different emotion, however, and it was one he was starting to glimpse more
and more frequently as they continued spending time in close proximity.

Pansy’s questions and shocked reaction to the bond played over in his mind, and he thought back
on how he viewed the ‘archaic’ ceremony in his youth, bemoaning the entire thing with Blaise and
Theo.

That was before her, though. Before Granger.

“N-no, I think I’m alright. Will you go in to wipe his mind afterward?”

“Yes, that’s my protocol.”

“Good. Right. Okay, then.”

She began to pull away from his embrace but he kept her locked within the circlet of his arms,
breathing in her jasmine perfume and tangling his fingers in the cinnamon strands of her curls.

She barely had the chance to glance up at him through confused eyes before his lips descended on
hers in a quick kiss, the fire flaring and her hands clenching his shoulders as if she wouldn’t let him
pull away if he wanted to.

But she hissed in pain as her forearm slid against his chest and Draco withdrew reluctantly, ripping
the sleeve of her robes to her elbow to find her wound festering and bubbling, pus and blood
coating her scar.

“I thought this was getting better?”

His words were sharp, his eyes cutting and medically diagnostic.

“It was. I don’t know what happened—this morning it started to fester again. I must be overdue for
a siphoning.”

Draco practically shoved her through the door at that, opening it for her and watching as she pouted
slightly before allowing her eyes to settle on the wizard before her.

“You alright?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Draco wasn’t so sure of that, but allowed her to go in alone, anyway. He’d already checked the salt
circle and Parkinson Sr. was safely behind it. He wouldn’t be able to get her.

The door shut and for what felt like hours, Draco sat straight as a board until the sound of laughter
reached his ears—bright, cackling, wild laughter that came from his witch.

He didn’t hesitate in ripping the door open to find her mid-siphon, green magic swirling in the air
as she floated above him, spinning in circles and eyes a gaze of neon green, laughing maniacally
with a crazed gleam on her face.

Draco couldn’t see her emotions through her aura, couldn’t feel her in any kind of connection
through the bond.

It was like she wasn’t Hermione Granger anymore, but a heinous creation filled with Dark magic.

He had to stop this—she couldn’t siphon magic this dark from anyone else ever again—and she
couldn’t siphon magic from those from the Light either, considering there weren’t many wizards on
death row that didn’t use Dark magic.

They were going to have to up the timeline of the rituals for the ceremony if she wanted any chance
of survival—and keeping her beautiful, intelligent mind stable after everything she’d gone through.

A thread of dark magic writhing with black strands connected her to Pansy’s father who was
writhing in pain and anguish in the corner, wailing out in fear as the scent of his urine and
defecation filled the air.

The air pulsed with magic—darkness descending upon the room as the skylight filled the room
with moonlight as they’d waited for the sun to set to perform the ritual.

Pansy’s letter was discarded in the corner.

Granger cried out, her hair swirling in a funnel of wild curls as a conjured wind whipped up the dirt
and dust on the floor.

At once, their connection snapped and Granger dropped to the floor and landed on her back, Draco
rushing forward to capture her head before it could bounce off the concrete floor.

Her eyes were unseeing, unfocused, her aura a myriad of colors glitching in and out while she
whined out, clutching her head and shaking slightly.

Draco glanced back to Pansy’s father, knowing that he had a job to finish, but the witch in his arms
was more important.

Scooping her up in his arms, he shut the door and locked it on Parkinson, Sr.

Someone else could deal with that mess.

He shielded her body from any prying eyes from the Aurors on night shift, thankful that Potter and
the Weasel were prized pigs for the Ministry and never had to stay a minute past four o’clock,
otherwise they’d be seeing a very concerning sight.

Granger was limp in his arms, her body twitching as more of the Dark magic seemed to be
infiltrating her veins and spreading out in her body.

He’d just made it to the lifts when he bumped into Nott.

Why couldn’t the Ministry have designated Apparition spots? Why the fuck did he have to traipse
through the entire bloody place with Granger prone in his arms to be made a spectacle of in front of
anyone around to see instead of just being able to make it safely back to their home?

“Alright, Draco? Granger?”

“We’re fine.”

Draco didn’t usually snarl at his friends.

He needed to get her home, and call a private Healer. Or should he take her directly to St.
Mungo’s? He wasn’t sure how to handle these types of things.

He’d thought Macnair would’ve been the darkest wizard she’d ever have to siphon from, but from
the way she was acting, it was like she’d siphoned directly from the Dark Lord himself.

He suddenly wondered if it was his family’s ancestral magic connection that was causing this
adverse reaction to the siphoning, considering they’d just completed the ritual the night before.

“You need any help?”

“Not unless you know a talented Healer who can be discreet, no, I don’t need any help.”

Theo didn’t seem to mind that he’d snapped at one of his oldest friends.

Draco snarled at a passing Auror who stared a bit too long at Granger’s body in his arms once they
stepped off the lifts.

Only a few more steps and they’d be at her office, then they’d be safe in the cottage.

Safe, safe, safe.

He had to make sure she was safe.

There was an intangible thread pulsing in his chest, swirling with the colors of her aura that were
slowly fading as if her life force was draining right along with it, and it was pressing him to get her
to safety.

It was telling him to get her away from any male who looked at her a moment too long, and it was
demanding he lay a claim to her that he’d never felt the need to do so beforehand.

He wanted to take her skin between his teeth and leave lingering marks on her body to prove that
she was his, and that she could never leave him.

He wanted to bury his face in the crook of her neck and inhale her deep jasmine, sugary scent and
commit it to memory and never have to leave her side.

He wanted to rip the limbs off that fucking Auror who couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering over
to his witch, his witch—

“Do you want to keep those fucking eyes? Yes? Then look somewhere else.”

The Auror diverted his eyes in the other direction.

Good.

“Okay, okay, slow down. I do know a very good, very discreet Healer. Do you want to come to my
house—”
Draco cut him off with a look of pure malice.

“Okay, not my house. The cottage, then? I can have them come to your place. How does that
sound?”

“I don’t give a fuck how you get them there, just make it happen, alright?”

“Alright, alright, I’ll Floo call them now, and meet you at the cottage in fifteen minutes. Is your
Floo unlocked? You’ll need to open it fully so they can come through.”

Draco’s mind was racing. Open the Floo? To a stranger?

But it was a Healer for Granger. He had to do it.

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

Draco had only just stepped into the Floo in Granger’s office before they were stepping through the
sitting room in the cottage and he summoned Pinky immediately.

“Yes, Master Draco—oh! Is Mistress Hermione—”

“Pinky, I need you to open the Floo to all visitors now. There should be a Healer coming through
for Granger.”

“Of course, Master Draco!”

Pinky Apparated away to to the heart of the cottage where the Floo wards resided and Draco laid
Granger on the sofa in the sitting room, divesting her of her outer layer of robes and prayed that
Theo was bringing a female Healer.

He wasn’t sure he could handle another male looking at his witch if he didn’t know who he was.

Looking over her wound, Draco noticed it had gone down in swelling, but was still slightly
festering.

He ran his hands up and down her shoulders, trying to bring some warmth back to her and in doing
so, the wound seemed to cease festering slightly.

He let go of her completely to test his theory and it reddened once more.

Making sure his hands were touching her bare skin, Draco noticed that his touch helped the
festering of her scar just the smallest amount.

A whoosh through the room notified Draco that the Floo had been activated and Theo stepped
through with a female witch on his heels—a very familiar witch.

“Astoria?”

Draco was astounded to find his ex-girlfriend with his best friend, a grave expression on her face
and her blonde hair twisted up in an intricate braid atop her head.

Granger stirred in her unconscious state and Draco immediately returned his attention to her, the
shock of seeing Astoria all but forgotten as he noted the shallow rising of her chest and the rapid
beat of her heart beneath his fingertips.

“Theo, when you told me you needed my help, I’m not sure I thought this was what you meant.”

“Please, Tori. She needs your help. She’s dying.”

“I—I don’t know what this is, but I’ll see what I can do.”

He felt a presence shift beside him and a snarl built up in his throat, turning sharply to find his ex-
girlfriend studying the woman that he—

Granger. She was studying Granger, with a clinical expression and unaffected disposition.

“What happened to her, Draco?”

He had to tell her as little as possible, and if she seemed like she posed a threat, he could just
Obliviate her. It wouldn’t be hard.

He’d do anything to protect Granger—anything.

“She was…imbued with Dark magic. Lots of it. And she’s dying from the poisoned wound on her
arm, but we’re…we’ve found a way to manage that one. The Dark magic—I don’t know how to
alleviate her symptoms from that.”

There was some rustling, but Draco kept his eyes on Granger’s face, beautiful and still, and calm as
death.

“I’ll apply some Essence of Dittany on her wound, and cast a diagnostic charm.”

Granger’s cheeks didn’t hold as much of a flush as they normally did. Her hair had turned dull, her
skin sunken in and sallow.

Her breaths were uneven and in a staccato rhythm.

She was dying before his eyes, and he could do nothing to save her.

Why hadn’t he just taken her directly to St. Mungo’s?

He was just about to rip her up off the couch and take her when her eyes shot open.

An eerie green light emanated from them and her mouth open on a keening scream.

The magic she’d just siphoned from Pansy’s father erupted out of her like a volcano of darkness,
the cloud-like substance leaking from her entire being shimmering like emerald jewels as she
screamed and screamed and screamed.

Her voice was hoarse as she shook, and all at once the magic ceased, but she did not.

Pitching over the side of the couch, she vomited up what looked to be the remnants of the lunch
they’d had together in her office after Pansy had left colored with the Dark magic in her system.

Astoria jumped back, but Draco stayed by her side, holding her hair and pulling it back from her
face.
“I’m here, you’re alright. You’re going to be fine, Darling. I’m here.”

Her coughing turned to wracking sobs, the toll the siphoning had taken on her finally getting the
better of her as she fell forward onto Draco’s shoulder and he held her all the while.

“You don’t know that. You don’t know that I’m going to be fine. I feel like I’m dying,” she cried
out against him, panting as panic creeped into her tone and her aura finally returned to him, black
crowding out any other emotion as fear weighed her down like a heavy woolen blanket.

“Draco—”

Draco ignored Astoria until he couldn’t any longer.

“Draco, look at her arm!”

He pulled Granger from his embrace until he could see her exposed arm against the sofa.

Sure enough, the festering had subsided, and instead of angry red lines covered in blood and pus, it
had faded to white silver lines on her arms.

The blueish purple veins that carried the poison to the rest of her body were gone. Vanished.

Like she had thrown up the poison from the blade right along with the Dark magic she’d siphoned.

“Granger, you’re not dying. Look,” Draco said, bringing her arm up to her eyes to see the proof of
what was right in front of them.

It had worked. The ritual the night before had worked—it had finally snapped into place between
them—the bond.

Astoria gasped aloud, and Draco looked to her, then to Theo to find his own face equally as pale.

“You—you’ve started the bonding ceremony. You’re going to be soul-bonded.”

“How did you—”

“Mate, your marks.”

Draco cut his eyes to Granger and found the silver, pulsing, gleaming mark on her neck that was
sure to match the one on his skin, the same mark that he could feel burning right along with hers.

There was a silver snake writhing on Granger’s neck, almost alive, only about two inches long on
the side of her neck, marking her as his.

He wondered if his would match, or if he would have a different symbol on his body.

It didn’t matter—what mattered was that the ritual had worked. The bond had snapped into place,
and it had done so early.

In most cases, the couple had to finish the mating ritual in order for the bond to make its effects
permanent, but there they were, the living proof that it had worked, and the implications of what
that meant for the two of them had his blood turning to fire in his veins.
“What? Draco—what does this mean?”

“It means you two were meant for each other even before you started this ritual.”

Draco cut vengeful eyes towards his best friend who only raised his hands in defense.

“What? It’s true! At least that’s what my mom used to tell me. She said if the marks appear before
the final ceremony, it was meant to be all along. Hers never appeared with my dad, not even after
they completed the final ceremony. Even the universe knew they weren’t supposed to be together.
But you two? Damn.”

“I wasn’t sure it was true, the article with Narcissa. But now—wow. Congratulations. I’m…I’m
very happy for the two of you. Uh—excuse me.”

“Astoria—”

Theo tried to get her to stop but the witch ran tearfully to the Floo.

Without thinking, Draco whipped his wand out and locked iron gates over the fireplace before she
could run away.

“Mate, what are you—”

“She can’t leave. Not yet. I need to make sure she won’t talk.”

“She won’t say anything—right Tori? She just wanted to help!”

“Theo.”

Draco spoke to him through his eyes. Even as children, they were able to communicate wordlessly.

He sighed in compliance.

“Astoria, hey, I need to talk to you before you leave.”

Convinced that Theo would either Obliviate her or make it known that she couldn’t speak a word of
what she saw there to anyone else, Draco could finally focus on her, on Granger, instead of
focusing on keeping her safe.

He Evanescoe’d her sickness off the side of the couch as she stared at him with a mixture of awe
and wonder.

“Theo, think you can get the both of you home safely from here on out?”

“Yeah, yeah, I can do that. You know—I really am happy for you.”

Draco was numb.

He couldn’t think past the current moment, and in the next whatever he felt previously evaporated
like steam off wet pavement in the summer sun.

Hermione Granger was staring at him like he was the answer to every question she’d ever asked
and his thoughts were all a mechanical whirring of what next, what next, what next—
“Master Draco, your guests have left. Would you like me to close your Floo to visitors?”

“Yes please, Pinky. Make sure that we are not, under any circumstances, disturbed for the next day
at least. Can you do that for me?”

“Of course, Master Draco!”

Pinky disappeared with a particularly ecstatic parting, and still, Draco stared.

He stared at the little freckles on her face, at the mole on the underside of her neck.

He stared at the flicker of gold in her eyes, amber and chocolate and honey eyes that melted as she
stared back.

She stared back, and her chest heaved with the force of the breaths that she was trying to pull down
in deep lungfuls of air.

“Is what Theo said true?”

“Which part?”

Her voice trembled, but his was as steady and firm as rocks on a cliffside during a storm.

She tilted her head and her aura came back all at once, nearly knocking him down with the force of
her emotions.

There was so much yellow—so much happiness.

But—there, in the cracks of yellow and sinews of passionate pastel pinks—it was the color he’d
been searching for since witnessing it in brief flashes and small peaks.

Gold. There was so much gold in her aura that it was shining and almost blinding him with its
effervescence.

Gold, just like the beams of sunlight that pieced her soul together with the moonlight of his own.

“The part about…how the marks mean that this was meant to happen all along? The two of us?”

“He could be. My mother taught me the same thing, but I’m not worried about that right now. You
were dying on me, Granger.”

“And now I’m not. Now I’m—healed, somehow? Alive? Is this how it feels to be not dying? It’s
been so long, I think I forgot how it felt.”

“To be alive?”

“To live without the dread of dying hanging over my head all the time.”

Draco leaned in to close the distance between them, his face in the crook of her neck, his lips on the
snake marking her as his.

She placed her own over his mark, whatever it may be, and the two were connected in this instance.
They were suddenly one, and he could feel her heartbeat thumping loud and strong against his skin.
 Alive, alive, alive.

“Do you want me to show you?”

"Yes, Draco. Please," she begged.

He sunk his teeth into her skin, and she exploded into pure color beneath him, and he knew he
would spend the rest of the night—and his life—teaching her, just as she would teach him what it
meant to live like there was no tomorrow.

Chapter End Notes

Hello my lovely readers! I am so sorry for the delay in updates--your girl thought she was
pregnant for a hot minute there, so things were a little chaotic around here! I'm definitely
shooting for once a week updates from now on, so I'm not sure if the September finish date
will stick, but I'll keep you guys updated on TikTok and here if anything changes!

What did you think of this chapter? What do you think is going to happen next? Any scenes
you want to see?

Until next time my lovely readers,

Kristen :)
 Chapter 33
Chapter Notes

Song for this chapter:

Literally any song from Noah Kahan's newest release: Stick Season (We'll All Be Here
Forever)
(Honorable Mentions: Your Needs, My Needs, Stick Season, All My Love, You're Gonna Go
Far, No Complaints, The View Between Villages (Extended Version)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

July 2nd, 2005

“Now that Hermione’s immediate threats to her life are gone, she should be able to return to her
flat, Malfoy.”

“Nice to see you too, Potter. Care to pop on over for a bite of breakfast? I’ll have to cook it for you
myself, because not even my own House Elf is awake at this unfathomable hour you’ve decided to
bless me with your presence, oh great chosen one.”

“I don’t care what time it is, I care about Hermione. Someone told me you had to carry her back
through the dregs of the Ministry and disappeared without a trace. What’s happened?”

Before Draco could launch into a tirade on how inappropriate it was to call in on someone else’s
Floo before one could even return to bed after their courtesy trip to the loo to relieve a certain
morning nuisance caused by his overactive imagination starring the witch beside him in her bed,
the witch in question came tumbling down the stairs with her usual grace as a gasp of surprise left
her.

“Harry! What’s wrong—is it Ginny? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Hermione, no one’s hurt. I was calling in to check on you. Are you alright? I haven’t
heard from you since yesterday, and then with some blokes at the Ministry telling me that they saw
you being carried out by Malfoy, I knew that I had to check in on you.”

“Oh, that. Yes, Harry, I’m alright, it was just a lot of dark magic taking its toll on me, that’s all.”

Granger stood beside him, her warm energy and golden light reflecting off the green flames in the
hearth.

Her clothes had been changed into a nightgown of flowing white cream silk with a modest
neckline, the swooping cut of the bottom barely reaching her ankles.

She smelled of jasmine and his cologne, which made Draco rather smug to discover.
“Really? And you’re sure that’s all?”

“Yes, Harry. Really. In fact…there’s something I need to show you. Draco…do you think he should
come over for this?”

Draco had half a mind to tell the git to sod off so that he could take his witch back to bed and make
sure she got enough rest, but considering the fact that they’d gone to sleep the night before at half
past nine, they’d had roughly seven hours of sleep give or take, so it was likely she wouldn’t get
back to sleep again even if she tried.

Draco had been keeping track of her sleeping patterns since she’d been living at the cottage with
him and found that they were much like his own, aside from the nightmares he would sometimes
succumb to.

“Knowing Saint Potter, he won’t rest unless he sees it with his own eyes in person. Please, Potter,
by all means come on in. I’ll just set the table…for three.”

As Draco strode to the kitchen to start the tea, he heard the whooshing of the Floo as Potter stepped
through and hurried so he could watch her best friend realize that she wasn’t going to die an
untimely death.

Draco could hardly believe it himself—that his family’s magic had saved someone, rather than the
other way around.

For the first time, he was proud to be tied to the Black and Malfoy family magic, even despite the
harm it had caused in the first place.

Striding back into the sitting room, Granger had just finished embracing Potter who was still in his
Auror’s robes, presumably from the night before if the state of his hair was anything to go by, and
watched in silent satisfaction as he glimpsed the marking on Draco’s neck.

The marking that Draco might or might not have made sure was perfectly visible by tugging the
collar down on his shirt before coming back into the room.

“Hermione, what’s…what’s that?”

Pointing to the mark on Draco’s neck, Potter swiveled around to gaze at Hermione’s own neck and
the snake that rested there.

He still didn’t know which mark Draco bore, but if he knew anything about his witch, it was that
she was a resilient, fiery creature who always persevered. Perhaps a lion of her house’s namesake,
just as Draco’s mark on her bore the mascot of Slytherin.

The snake was an interesting choice for her mark, considering that he couldn’t choose what it
would appear to be on her body.

Draco had assumed that, once the bond between the two of them became permanent, the mark she
bore would resemble that of his namesake—a dragon.

Seeing the snake there on her neck, though, silvery and shimmering, he knew it was the perfect
choice.

He did not breathe fire, but slither through the grass to ensure those he loved were safe.
He did not fly through the air, searching for fame and glory, but rather thrived behind the scenes,
making sure others who deserved it more were recognized instead of him.

Had it been years ago, before his thinking had changed, the mark might’ve turned up on a
Pureblood wife once upon a time with a dragon, showing off its mighty tail and wings—but this
snake, a symbol for his ruthless, unending and cunning prowess—this was the embodiment of who
Draco portrayed to the rest of the world.

He would shape shift into a dragon to raze the world for those he loved, but was perfectly content
to let Granger be the one to do the burning while he lied in wait, striking those who dared go
against her in the shadows.

“You know, I did some reading on this Pureblood soul bonding tradition.”

“Is that right, Potter?”

Granger grabbed a seat in a wingback closest to the fireplace while Draco remained standing, as did
Potter.

“Yeah, that’s right. It talked of the amount of rituals, eighteen of them to be exact, and that after
you start the process, you can’t stop or else both of the participants will die. It makes it so that
anyone else won’t seem appealing romantically, and the thought of being with anyone aside from
your partner will make you physically ill. Hermione, it’s a ritual that makes Malfoy the only one
you’ll ever want to be around, and if the two of you are parted for long enough, it feels like
physical torture. How could you have made that decision so easily, with someone like him? And
those marks—they’re not supposed to have shown up yet, am I right? They’re only supposed to
appear after the final ceremony, usually at a very ritualistic wedding. Couples that are soul bonded
get extra leniency in the way of the law, as well. If one is set for Azkaban, they’re usually given
house arrest instead, which is why Lucius isn’t in Azkaban right now, isn’t it? Because it would be
a cruel and unusual punishment to allow his mother to be tortured for the wrongdoings of the
husband, right? Right?”

“Yes, Potter. Quite the astute reader, despite all I heard of you at Hogwarts. Is my witch rubbing off
on you?”

Potter didn’t rise to the taunt, but Granger whipped her head to Draco as if in shock that he’d
actually claim her in front of her friend.

She had a large shock coming to her if she thought for one second that he would shout across the
rooftops and to anyone who would listen that he was hers.

He didn’t want to ask if she’d do the same.

“Are you serious, Hermione? How do you know if this is even worth it? What if it doesn’t even
work, despite you binding yourself to him? What if—”

“Why don’t you just put him out of his misery, Darling, and show him already?”

Potter flinched at Draco’s use of a pet name for Granger, and it was more than satisfying to watch.

“Harry, would you come here please so I can show you something?”
“Show me what?”

His green eyes sparked with curious skepticism and Draco had to keep from rolling his eyes at the
distrust written right across his ‘Chosen One’ face.

He went willingly over to where Granger sat, though, and Draco took even more satisfaction at the
wide-eyed shock on his features as he took in the sight of Granger’s forearm, clean and without
even a scar to denote that there was ever a slur carved into her arm.

It had fully healed overnight, while she lay in his arms and breathed much more deeply than she
had the first time they’d slept in the same bed.

“It’s healed, Harry. Completely, irrevocably healed. Not even a scar is left. This is what Draco has
done for me—what his magic has given me. Not only that, but he saved me in the Ministry the day
of the attack as well. Whether you like it or not, he’s here to stay. If I’m to be in your life, you’re
going to have to accept him as well.”

Draco thought he was attracted to the witch in front of him before, but after hearing her rip into her
friend for him? He might’ve had to discreetly adjust himself in his trousers after the swift dressing
down she’d given her oldest friend.

Potter, for once, seemed speechless.

“I mean honestly Potter. You should know by now, that when I want something done I have to do it
myself. Did you really think I would sit by and watch her die once you learned of the poison on her
arm? And while she’s right that I will be a permanent fixture in her life, I won’t allow her
friendships to dissolve because of me. If you’d prefer I stay at home in the future while you all go
and celebrate at that home full of the merry band of Weasleys, I won’t stop you, just know that
while I’m still assigned to keep her safe, she won’t be leaving my sight.”

“Malfoy, I—I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for Hermione.”

Well, that certainly wasn’t what he was expecting.

“I know I’ve made my…reservations about the two of you quite clear, but after seeing this? The
proof that you’ve kept her safe while I wasn’t…this just proves to me that while you might still put
up that old front, you’ve clearly changed, Malfoy, and if you’re willing to put aside the past for
Hermione, I’m willing to do the same. I’m not sure the same can be said for Ron, but—”

“Ronald can take his opinions and stuff them up his arse, for all I care. After we ran into him and
his girlfriend at the Ministry, I’m only more inclined to believe it was him that leaked the status of
my illness to the press.”

“Hermione…I know I don’t need to be making excuses for him, but I’m certain it wasn’t Ron. He
even volunteered to take Veritaserum to prove that it wasn’t him who tipped off the press about it. I
don’t know who did it, but it wasn’t him.”

“Well, regardless, if I’m going to have a relationship with the rest of the Weasleys, which I would
very much like to do considering what happened with my own parents, I don’t think anything can
be salvaged as far as friendship goes between me and Ron unless he apologizes, and does so
sincerely.”
“I can’t promise that, Hermione, but I can try to sway him to your side. As of right now, though,
he’s not really speaking to me, or Ginny. Or any of his family, really. But everyone is worried about
you and wants to see you, and I know they’d all be overjoyed to see that you’re healed. You
know…Molly’s birthday party is this weekend. If you’re feeling up for it, I know George is feeling
quite lonely without Ron around, and with all the others off doing their own thing, the entire family
but especially George would love to see you and have the knowledge that you’re not facing a life
sentence any longer.”

“Would they even let me come with Draco if I wanted to go?”

“Knowing he was the one to save your life? Hermione, of course they would. Only if Malfoy is on
his best behavior, though.”

Draco scoffed.

“You think I don’t know how to hold an amicable conversation for her sake, Potter?”

The dark, unruly haired wizard looked Draco up and down, his glasses falling down on the bridge
of his nose as he did so.

“I don’t know—can you?”

“Alright, alright. We’ll talk about it, and I’ll Owl Molly about the details. Now, I’m sure I’ll see
you in the Ministry today—”

“Absolutely not.”

Granger craned her neck to glare confusedly at Draco, her brown eyes wide and features
questioning, though there was a mischievous green tint to her happy aura.

“And why won’t we be going in to work today, Draco?”

“Because you almost lost your life siphoning and we need to come up with a course of action to
where Robards won’t expect that from you again? Is that a sufficient answer enough for you,
Granger?”

“I can just go and talk to him—”

“Actually, Hermione, I hate to say this but Malfoy is right. Robards has been on a tear trying to find
a place to hide the sheer volume of prisoners, and after a section of the Ministry holdings were
destroyed during the attack, I have to say that I’m not exactly sure you should go in today. I say—
lie low until your hearing. You can say you’re working from home because the siphoning took so
much out of you, and play up the fact that you’re dying. I’ll relay it to Robards, and I won’t
necessarily lie, just say you’re recovering from what happened, which is true. Malfoy can get
started on the paperwork and donations to landowners far enough away from civilization in
Wizarding Britain so that residents won’t worry about a prison so close to them. We need to
expedite this process, otherwise a mass escape attempt might come and then we’ll be right back
where we started in the beginning of this mess.”

“Potter’s right, Granger. Stay home with me and we’ll strategize with my mother. She knows
everyone, it seems, and she’s the best at warming up investors and potential buyers to make them
forget the stigma against the name ‘Malfoy’ nowadays.”
“Alright, then. I’ll stay home.”

Draco fought the satisfied smirk from crawling onto his face at her use of the word ‘home’ when
describing the cottage, with him.

“Speaking of home, Hermione, there’s someone that’s been missing you dearly. Can he come live
here with you, since your flat is basically a bomb shelter at this point with how many protective
enchantments and wards have been placed upon it that not even your oldest and dearest friend can
even look in on the Floo to check in on things?”

“Oh, my flat. Draco, didn’t you say we could go soon to clean it out?”

“So, you’re moving in here indefinitely?”

“Of course Potter, where else would we live? This is the most well protected wizarding residence in
the entire country.”

“But the threat against her life is gone now that the Death Eaters were captured, right?”

“Greyback is still out there,” Draco almost growled at the wizard who was most certainly
overstaying his welcome.

“Right, right. Well, I’ll leave you two to it. Hermione—can I pop by soon when you’re not…you
know, otherwise occupied? Or maybe you could come over to Grimmauld to visit with Ginny, you
know. Alone?”

Granger’s twinkling laugh matched the stars shining in her brown eyes.

“That would be lovely, Harry. Soon, I promise.”

Draco wanted to wipe that smug, conceited smirk off the other wizard’s face, but kept his hands to
himself, if only for the witch sitting before him.

Potter kneeled before Granger and swept her up into a dramatic hug that had Draco rolling his eyes
while also crossing his arms and tapping his foot impatiently while he awaited the grotesque scene
of affection in front of him.

The thought of another wizard touching her was mollified by the slight sniff coming from Granger,
and he suddenly wished to be the one holding her in his arms, if only to make sure that another tear
never fell down onto her cheek ever again.

“—ever, even if you’re scared. I’ll always understand.”

“I know, I just—”

“Wanted to suffer in silence?”

Draco suddenly felt as if he were encroaching on a very personal moment, but he couldn’t rip
himself away.

He’d once heard Granger referring to Boy Wonder as her brother, someone she could always count
on no matter what, and while Draco wanted that title all for himself, as her protector above all, he
wasn’t too proud to admit that having more than one protector in her life wouldn’t be the worst
thing for his witch to have.

The more people who loved and watched out for her, the better.

So, Draco let them have their little moment while he escaped to the kitchen, replacing the third
setting he’d placed for Potter before rolling his eyes at the scene before him and moving to pull yet
another one out.

“Pinky?”

The elf appeared dressed up in a lavender shift dress, eyes wide and bright and a sweet smile on her
face.

“Yes, Master Draco? How are you this morning?”

“I’m quite fine, Pinky, thank you for asking. And you?”

Pinky fiddled with her fingers while bouncing on her feet, glancing back and forth at the newest
guests in the middle fo the kitchen who’d entered without even knocking.

“I’m well, Master Draco. Was there something you needed?”

“Oh, yes. Would you mind too terribly making up a place setting for my parents? It seems they’ll
be joining us for breakfast. I’ve just got to go up and get ready for the day, as does Granger.”

“Oh really Draco, we’ve hardly the time for you two to go and ‘get ready’ or whatever you mean to
do while we sit down here and wait.”

Draco eyed his father, a spark in his grey eyes for the first time since the war had kickstarted again
back in fourth year.

“Goodmorning to you too, father. Mother.”

“My dragon, what a lovely morning it is indeed,” she said imploringly, eyes full of mirth and aura
dancing with yellow-golden dandelion happiness and love.

“And what a mighty Phoenix that is now living upon your skin. A mighty, fearsome creature, to be
sure. Our grandchildren will be most powerful, indeed, Narcissa—just like you predicted, my
love.”

“And why, pray tell, have you two decided to show up unannounced this fine morning?”

Draco didn’t let on how satisfied it made him to know that it was a Phoenix placed upon his neck
by his beautiful soulmate.

Soulmate—a word he hadn’t allowed himself to think until that moment, but his soulmate she was,
if the fact that their marks showed up only two rituals deep were anything to go by.

“I’m surprised it only took them two rituals for the mark to show up. For us, it was the night before
the wedding that sealed the deal for us, my love.”
“Well, I just had to convince you of my devotion to you that night, my dear. Son, surely you know
why we are here. The magic informed us of a new family member in the household last night, and
we are here not only to offer our congratulations, but to complete the next three steps of your
binding. I hope Miss Granger is feeling alright today.”

“Actually—”

“Draco, Harry’s gone. Do you—oh, hello. Goodmorning Narcissa, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Hermione, dear. So lovely to see you this morning, and to see you looking so lively as well. What
a beautiful mark you’ve left on our son, we are so proud to have such a strong new witch in the
family!”

Draco watched in amusement as Granger took in her state of dress and the words just spoken to her
as a great pink flush settled over her cheeks and danced across the bridge of her nose, intermingling
with the warm freckles dotting the expanse of her smooth, milky cream skin.

“I—uh, thank you? I’m sorry, I didn’t realize—I’ll just go and make myself more presentable.”

Draco caught Granger’s wrist in his hand before she could make her hasty exit, admiring his
spellwork as he took in her charmed nightgown that he’d made sure to transfigure as she’d seemed
to uncomfortable in her work clothes the night before.

He’d spent most of the night simply watching her breathe, her charcoal eyelashes fluttering with
dreams and her chest rising and falling in deep, lulling patterns.

He’d hitched her leg to drape over his lap, and had kept her in his hold until sleep had finally
sucked him under in its seductive embrace, almost as enchanting as the woman in his arms.

His parent’s auras danced with green mischief and yellow happiness, sparkling gold gleaming on
the edges.

“Oh its no trouble dear, its truly our faults for coming over so early. Please don’t feel you need to
freshen up on our account. We really only needed to see you both for a simple matter, as we were
just telling Draco.”

Granger caught some of her bottom lip between her teeth as Draco guided her to sit in the chair
beside him at the small table in the kitchen, saving a place to his right for Pinky when she returned
with a tray of scones and tea for the gathered party.

“Thank you Pinky.”

“Of course, Master Draco.”

She took her seat and gazed at the two of them with adoration in her eyes, practically bouncing in
her seat with excitement.

“Pinky just wants to say—Pinky is so happy and proud to have a new Mistress to serve! The new
Mistress Hermione is a kind and wonderful witch and will make such a wonderful addition to the
House of Malfoy! And the children! Pinky hopes to have so many new babies to care for!”

Draco cleared his throat, mind racing with the thoughts of a curly blonde headed little girl with
Granger’s big brown eyes, a baby boy with brown ringlets and eyes of salt, twins with matching
snaggle toothed grins, a rambunctious, know-it-all Gryffindor chasing her brothers on the newest
Firebolt.

Blinking away thoughts of what could be his future, Draco focused back on the conversation to see
Granger’s wide eyes filled with slight panic, and Draco realized she might not necessarily be in the
same headspace as him.

Reaching over to grasp her hand in his, he shot her a wink that had her melting before his eyes.

“Relax, Granger. Pinky likes to get a bit carried away, isn’t that right, Pinky?”

“Oh, of course, Master Draco! Pinky is so sorry to have scared Mistress Hermione! Of course,
Pinky would be happy with only two children at the least!”

At that, Granger cracked a smile.

“Yes, well, we’ll see about that now won’t we?”

Throwing him a knowing glance, Draco only chuckled at her exasperated expression at the fact that
not only once but twice was their future procreation a topic of discussion in a twenty-four hour
span.

“Hermione—I’d love to walk with you in the gardens, if you wouldn’t mind?”

Draco released Granger’s wrist, not even having realized he was still holding it as he was still
drawing circles into her skin absentmindedly listening to the conversation around him.

“Oh, of course.”

Granger stood and Draco decided to put her out of her misery and transfigured her nightgown back
into her clothes from the night before, causing her to breathe a sigh of relief and tamp down any
wrinkles and pulled back the thick curls around her shoulders into a low tie, letting the ringlet fall
down her back while she summoned her wand and found her shoes with it before stepping toward
the door that led to the small garden outside.

“We’ll only be a few minutes, dear.”

Draco’s father tipped his head in acknowledgement of his wife’s words, and then Granger was
giving him that look with her big brown eyes and his heart was a wild, thumping beast in his chest,
yelling at him to go with her, but he acquiesced to his parent’s wishes and stayed where he was,
knowing that something of import was about to happen.

“Draco, I’ll confess that I didn’t think something like this would ever happen for you, and that it
would partially be my fault. I’ll start by apologizing, for making you believe in those antiquated
ideals that were thrust upon me by my family before me. I don’t think I ever truly told you the
reason we decided to follow that…that madman. Have you…did your mother ever inform you of
the troubles we had with infertility?”

Draco sat up straighter at the openness exuding from his father, something he hadn’t bene
expecting in the slightest.

“No. I was not aware of that.”

“Back then, the man was only…Tom. Tom was so important, so well-connected, so chivalrous and
charming and well-meaning at first, or so it seemed. He was coming to every family with solutions
to their problems, and we were all such grateful fools to believe him. When he came to us, Narcissa
had just had her third miscarriage. At that point, we would’ve tried anything.

“So, when he came up with the Dark Mark and explained it to us, I happily volunteered, knowing
that it came with his extensive knowledge of magic. He helped us conceive you, Draco. I was
magically linked to this bastard, and we got a child out of it. I was his slave, in eternal servitude for
what he’d given our family. It wasn’t until later, when his ideals turned to psychotic ramblings of a
truly evil and inhuman madman, did I realize what a grave mistake we’d made.”

Draco shook with the force of his clenched teeth and fists, the blood rushing through ever-
expanding blood vessels while listening to his father tell him that he was the reason his mother
almost died, the reason for Hermione being tortured on the floor of his drawing room, for that scar
being placed upon her skin, for the poison that had run through her veins.

If his parents hadn’t been so desperate for a child…for an heir—

“We never should’ve been so desperate, I can see that now. We could’ve adopted, and used
glamours to make the child seem like a true Malfoy heir, but we had a duty. Narcissa wanted a child
so badly, to love and to protect, but with your birth came the death of that man, and we assumed we
were in the clear. Turning back to my previous ideals, it was easy to pretend like things were
exactly how we’d meant for them to happen. But then, he returned, and then it all went downhill
once again.

“I am telling you this, not to put the burden of our own choices upon you, but to explain to you why
this family followed him. Why we allowed certain…injustices against those you care about now to
occur. I know it doesn’t absolve us of the things that happened, but I can only hope you’ll forgive
us for standing by while it happened. If anything like that had happened to Narcissa…I can only
imagine the type of wrath I’d incur on those who set out to hurt her. I can only hope you won’t
blame us for her pain, and that you’ll consider sill allowing us in your lives.

“That being said,” Lucius began, pulling out a dagger with a skull on one side set with emeralds
and a snake on the other.

“I’d like to perform the father-son ritual with you. This ritual my father did with me cements that
familial bond between us, and strengthens our ancestral magic before the next ritual that you and
your beloved will perform.”

Draco watched as his father pierced the skin of his forefinger with the blade, letting a drop of red
blood well up on the tip before handing the dagger over to Draco, who did the same.

Hissing at the pain, Draco eyed his father as he brought their fingers together, binding their blood
while he spoke in Latin, a phrase that Draco knew all too well.

“Sanguis Sanguinis Mei.”

Blood of my blood.

“Sanguis Sanguinis Mei.”

“Sanguis Sanguinis Mei.”

It was a chanting roar of Latin as the swell of their blood brought a breeze to flutter in Draco’s hair,
even as all the windows in the kitchen were tightly shut.

Draco added his own voice to the chant just as the blood between his and his father’s fingers singed
with magical fire, burning away any evidence of the cut that they’d made together.

His father pulled his hand away, but not before speaking once more.

“I hope you will be truly happy with this witch just as I am with mine, Draco. You deserve that and
more. You deserve what we couldn’t give to you, because of the selfish way in which we decided to
bring you into this world. I hope you can find it within yourself to forgive us for those
transgressions—for wanting a child so badly we’d raze the world in order to keep you safe once we
had you in our arms.”

Draco didn’t speak as his father stood and left, the scent of burnt coppery blood hanging in the air
like a noose.

***

“Hermione, dear, I do want to tell you how impressed I am with you.”

Hermione glanced at Narcissa with wide, thankful eyes.

“I’m sorry—impressed with what, exactly?”

“Well, not only did you discover the magic of Merlin’s Graig, and the magic within it to keep
yourself alive for so long with that toxin running through your veins, but to keep a department
running while you’re actively dying? Not to mention your academic achievements despite living
though a war at such a young age—it’s no wonder your mark on my son is a Phoenix—you truly
rise from the ashes even better than you were before. Its a miracle, truly, how quickly the ancestral
magic destroyed that poison in your body. It was almost like you were born to be a Malfoy.”

There was a knowing twinkle in Narcissa Malfoy’s eyes, and Hermione found herself falling into it
all the same, a motherly, loving energy wrapping around her like a warm hug.

Eyes pricking she turned, not wanting her to see how badly she needed that motherly energy in that
moment.

Hermione hadn’t noticed how much she truly missed her parents—especially her mother—until
that very moment in which Narcissa had praised her for her war efforts and everything that had
come after.

It had been so long since someone had recognized her for what she’d done rather than who she was
and who she’d protected in order to get there.

“Thank you, truly, but I can’t take credit for this. If it weren’t for you and Draco, I’d still be dying.”

“I knew the moment you walked through those wards you were destined for my son. Call it a Seer’s
gift.”
“A Seer?”

“Yes, dear. Oh, I know you’re skeptical, that much is obvious by your aura, but you’re so logical, of
course you would be skeptical. You can’t tell me after everything you’ve seen in this magical world
of ours that someone being intuitive enough to know some of what might happen in the future is so
outlandish for you? I mean, you’ve traveled through time—surely this isn’t so hard to believe?”

Hermione stayed a step behind Draco’s mother while she perused through the small garden in the
courtyard of the cottage, smelling the pink roses as she passed them to try and discern a way in
which Narcissa Malfoy knew of her Timeturner adventures in third year.

“After what I saw at Merlin’s Craig, and the events that happened afterwards, no, I’m not much of a
skeptic anymore. I am, however, wary of those who claim to have gifts in certain teaching positions
at Hogwarts, proffering nonsense to impressionable students.”

Narcissa barked out a laugh that Hermione wasn’t expecting from a woman of such grace, her hair
in an elegant chignon even at this time of morning.

Hermione was sure it was barely nearing six in the morning and was suffering with bedhead and
bad breath in wrinkly transfigured robes while Narcissa looked as if she’d stepped out of a copy of
Witch Weekly, nary a pristine, platinum blonde hair out of place.

Suddenly, Hermione longed for that soft bed with Draco’s warm, solid body wrapped tightly around
her body as the early morning light streamed in through the curtains, a sleepy smile on his lips and
a kiss on her cheek as a greeting.

“Oh, Professor Trelawney does indeed have the sight, albeit she is much more exuberant with her
practice. I prefer a more subdued approach, letting things come to me rather than forcing them.”

Narcissa pricked her finger on a nearby rose thorn, and Hermione stepped forward to closely look
at the bead of blood welling up on her fingertip.

“Oh, Narcissa, you’ve—”

“It’s alright, dear, I meant to do that. You’ll need to do it as well. We are going to strengthen your
bond with our ancestral magic. From the change in wind, I can only assume Draco and Lucius have
performed their ritual for this as well. Since your magic has been cleansed from the poison and
recognized you as a family member, your magic will be in flux, and this will help to ground it as
the new power you’ll experience begins to show. It might come off as accidental bursts of magic,
like when you’re experiencing high stress or anxiety, but once you and Draco complete the third
ritual it should level out, so do make sure to complete that ritual sooner rather than later. I’ll be in
touch when its time for the next rituals of course, but we’ve got plenty of time for those. Now, your
finger please?”

Hermione reluctantly held out her finger for the Malfoy Matriarch to grab and press tightly against
a prickly rose thorn and watched in awe as they pressed their fingers together.

“The chant is “blood of my blood” in Latin. I’ll go first.”

Wind tumbled Hermione’s hair from its low ponytail as the words fell from Narcissa’s lips, then
followed suit from Hermione’s.
The chant was ethereal, connecting her to a well of power that she’d only started delving into.

It seemed to go on forever, this deepening cache of magic that swelled and eddied and pulled and
pushed and rose up until it was at the forefront of Hermione’s fingertip, the magic crackling and
dancing around the blood seeping into Narcissa’s skin.

All too soon, that feeling of never-ending power withdrew, like an almighty creature returning to
slumber happy that it had been fed and Narcissa dropped her finger from Hermione’s.

“Hermione, there was one more thing I’d like to discuss with you, if that’s alright.”

“Oh, of course.”

Turning to face the elder witch, Hermione recognized the grave look on her face.

“Your internal scarring—I hate to bring this up, but because this has caused me such pain in the
past, I only wanted to be upfront with you. I had infertility struggles and we tried so hard to have
Draco—I only hope that you two would come to me if you have the same issues. I don’t know how
serious this scarring is, but I sensed it the moment we met. It came through to me as a sort of
blackness around your womb, as I wasn’t trying to pry into your life. I hope you don’t take offense
to this, but please come to me or go see a Healer when you’re ready to bear children. If you have
any issues, my husband and I will know what to do. I just don’t want you to go through the same
things I went through.”

Throughout her talking, Narcissa had reached out to grab Hermione’s hand within hers, and the
motherly love that surged through their touch made Hermione’s heart ache.

“Oh, of course. I doubt I’ll be thinking of children for a while yet, but they are something that I
want, absolutely. Thank you—for telling me.”

Narcissa pulled Hermione into a gardenia and rose scented hug, her warmth and love radiating off
her as Hermione tasted pure honey gilded love and lavender happiness in her aura.

Hermione had lost one mother, only to gain another.

She couldn’t deny that even though she might ache for her mother, Narcissa was an exemplary new
addition, all things considered.

“Oh, and Narcissa…about that article in the Prophet…”

The witch only pulled back, gave Hermione a dazzling smile, and winked before turning around.

“You’re welcome.”

***

July 6th, 2005

Friday came sooner than Draco could have ever imagined.

Called back to the Ministry once Potter had informed Robards that Granger was resting from the
siphoning, Draco had spent the majority of his time Obliviating Death Eaters and using his
Legilimency to break into their minds just to ‘double check’ as Robards had said, that there wasn’t
anymore mention of Greyback or his whereabouts lurking about somewhere in a dark corner of one
of their minds that Draco might’ve missed.

Draco had asked his mother to kickstart the prison operation, and she’d responded enthusiastically
in kind, which made Draco more than glad that his mother suddenly had nothing to do at home
considering his father was on house arrest, and it physically pained her to be away from him for
longer than a few days.

Granger had taken to helping Narcissa with the prison operation as well as poring over the books
about the soul bonding, wanting to know any and everything that had to do with it, considering that
they’d only completed four out of eighteen rituals, their schedules making it near impossible to
complete the third part of the ancestral magic-grounding ritual that needed to occur after his
parent’s had bled with them and shared their magical signature with them.

Draco wanted to raze the entire DMLE to the fucking ground just to give him some time off with
his witch, his mind aching and head throbbing as he returned from each work day sucked dry as if
the Legilimency were some kind of energy vampire, the effects of staying in a Death Eater’s
depraved mind for hours at a time taking a toll on his psyche.

The only thing that made it even the slightest bit better was seeing Granger’s adorable upturned
nose stuck in a book, her mouth drooling on an opened page of an ancient book on her bed, fast
asleep, each and every night that he’d returned.

Pinky informed him that she ate the appropriate meals and was drinking enough water and that her
poison had not, in fact, returned, but with Draco leaving before sun-up and returning after she’d
fallen asleep, he was more than ready for her to return to work at the Ministry, because at least then
he’d be able to have her in his sight and not tucked away at the cottage, even if that was the safest
place for her to be at the moment.

“Draco, is it time?”

Draco had returned from the Ministry at noon to collect Granger and bring her to the hearing in
front of the Wizengamot and a few key reporters, one of them being Lavender Brown, a reporter
that seemed to have it out for Granger if her previous pieces were anything to go by.

Draco was just glad that it was (mostly) closed to the public.

He would be undergoing V, after all, the more potent form of Veritaserum that he most definitely
did not have a tolerance for, unlike the regular Veritaserum that Voldemort had forced his followers
to conquer.

“Yes, Darling. And don’t you look the part. Are you ready?”

Granger, dressed in tightly cinched robes the deepest hue of emerald green and shining with yellow
happiness with blackened fear curdling the edges, Draco strode to her and scooped her up into his
arms, happy to finally be touching her and holding her and breathing in her sweet jasmine scent,
tangling his fingers in the wild curls at the nape of her neck.
Tipping her head backwards to stare up at him, her honey-golden eyes shone with the same force as
the metallic shade swirling around her aura, a color he never thought he’d see from her—at least
not so soon—and wondered briefly how powerfully his newfound love for her shone through to
her.

“Long time no see, Granger.”

“I could say the same thing about you, Malfoy.”

Draco’s grip tightened on her hair just as her voice turned breathy towards the end of her sentence.

“What did I say about my name, Granger.”

“What? I don’t remember. Perhaps you’ll have to remind me.”

“I could spend all day reminding you if we didn’t have somewhere to be.”

Her mouth tilted up at the end, the pert, pink flush of it decadent and tempting.

“Oh, is that so? Pity. I’m sure I would’ve enjoyed it so much…Malfoy.”

Wrapping one hand around her neck and the other clenching her hair at the roots, Draco brought his
lips so close to hers that they traced the skin of her mouth as he spoke, their breaths intermingling
with each exhale.

“Oh, I can’t wait to show you just how much you’ll be enjoying it tonight—Hermione.”

She gasped at the use of her first name from his lips, but he pulled back, leaving her standing there
with her hands outstretched as if contemplating whether or not to yank him back and finish what
he’d started, but it was then that fucking Potter came through on a Floo call. Again.

“Malfoy, Hermione—come on. Stop snogging—you’re going to be late, and Robards is on another
tear—again.”

“We’re coming, Harry.”

“Move out of the hearth, Potter, unless you enjoy being stepped on.”

A few moments later and they were through the Floo and situated in Granger’s office, then they
were walking down the walking down the hallway of the DMLE together, Draco keeping his eyes
peeled for the orange-haired Weasel that he’d only spotted in passing in the Ministry since Draco
had been working in the cells and he’d been up in transportation, surprisingly.

Granger’s cheeks were deliciously flushed, and he couldn’t wait until he could take the sides of
them with his hands and angle her face up towards his to capture those lips in a kind of kiss that she
deserved—not something rushed and wanton that was out of control.

No, he planned to take his time with her, that was certain.

“Now, when we get down to the Wizengamot, Hermione will sit with me, since this isn’t her
hearing, but she might be called as a witness.”

“Yes, Potter. I’ve been through a few of these things before, you know.”
Potter cringed at remembering the fact that Draco was on trial for being a Death Eater only seven
years before.

The trio were garnering strange looks from other employees, much more than Draco earned when
he was alone.

The staring turned into ogling when Granger reached over and laced her tiny, delicate fingers into
his own, his hand dwarfing hers.

He chanced a glance down at the brave little thing to find her blushing red instead of pink, the flush
coating her chest and the bridge of her nose.

Undeterred, Draco slung an arm over the shoulder of his witch.

If they were going to make a statement, might as well make it the right way.

Potter rolled his eyes as they made it to the lifts, which were thankfully empty, and spit them out on
the level of the Wizengamot quicker than Draco could’ve wished.

The reason why was glaringly obvious at the packed level, with the multitude of wizards and
witches who should’ve been in their own departments, who were crowding around and clearly
hoping to gain entry into the hearing, which Robards had assured Draco would be closed to the
public.

It was like the entire population of Wizarding Britain had showed up for this one.

The answer as to why was made clear the moment they were spotted.

The press gathered were stirred up in a frenzy, and Draco used his arm around Granger to shield her
as best he could before the flurry of questions were volleyed at them like a string of dark curses.

“Miss Granger! Is it true you’ll be marrying a reformed Death Eater?”

“How does Mr. Weasley feel about how fast you’ve moved on from him?”

“Mr. Malfoy! Does your family still ascribe to Pureblooded traditions, like the soul binding?”

“Miss Granger! Have you and Mr. Malfoy entered into a Pureblood tradition?”

“Are the two of you soulmates?”

“Everyone—back up! This is official Auror business!”

Potter’s voice was like a beacon call, and suddenly the frenzy descended upon him, as well.

“Mr. Potter! How does it feel knowing your best friend is involved with a reformed Death Eater?’

“Harry Potter! Has Draco Malfoy truly shunned the Pureblood ideals?”

“If he doesn’t believe in Pureblood traditions, why have the two of them entered into a soul binding
ceremony?”
Finally, Draco had had enough and cast a Protego shield big enough and thick and warped enough
to keep the voices of the reporters from entering, encasing the three of them in a bubble that kept
the chaos at bay.

“Lets just get this over with, shall we?”

Draco gripped Granger tighter, holding her shaking form to his body as he questioned just how
good of an idea the tell-all article his mother had done was.

“Agreed,” Potter grumbled, making way for them to enter the packed room of the Wizengamot
hearing.

It turned out Robards was wrong, as photographers were shouting in the seats and flashes went off
like a miniature Patronus horde.

“What the bloody fuck is this, Potter? I thought he said this wasn’t open to the public.”

“I guess he prioritized the ‘wanting to be transparent’ angle instead. I’m sorry, mate.”

What surprised Draco more wasn’t the fact that Robards had gone back on his word, but that Harry
Potter—the ‘Boy Who Lived, then died, then Lived Again’ had called him his ‘mate’.

“Whatever. I’ll just go to my seat, then. Potter—you don’t take your eyes off her, alright?”

Draco handed Granger off to Potter like she was a precious gem that would shatter if not handled
with care.

He threw her a wink just to let her know how unaffected he was in all this, and strode to the center
of the room where the High Inquisitor stood, as well as Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister for
Magic himself.

A hush fell over the crowd as Draco watched with unrelenting focus his witch being led to a seat in
the front row by her best friend, familiar faces in the crowd either sneering or smiling in turn.

There was Theo, sat beside Pansy, Blaise, and even Astoria with Daphne and the redheaded Weasel
at her side.

There was the rest of the Weasley clan, all seated to the left of Granger’s ex.

The mother, her husband, Potter’s wife and her horde of children. The oldest and his French wife
and their daughter.

More Gryffindors, a few Ravenclaws in attendance.

Granger’s healer, who’d spilled the news about Granger’s illness to the Weasel.

Skeeter, and her prodigy Lavender Brown just to the left of them.

Even a few professors dotted the rows, including Slughorn.

It was like a godsdamned Hogwarts reunion, for some kind of demented hearing about fucking
Veritaserum.
Something else was brewing in the Minister’s expression, and Draco wasn’t sure whether or not he
liked it.

“We are here today for the hearing of one Draco Lucius Malfoy, undergoing the new and improved
version of Veritaserum. Mr. Malfoy, if you would, please take the potion in the bottle before you.”

Instead of clear, the V was an eerie shade of blue that Draco remembered brewing with a keen
memory of the smell of steaming ingredients and the damp, dustiness of his potions cellar during
the war.

Unstoppering the vial, Draco locked eyes with Granger and kept his stare there as he took the
potion that would have him telling all his secrets.

He only hoped she would stay by his side once it was all out there in the open.

“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. Now, would you please address the Wizengamot and explain your first
interaction with the new and improved version of Veritaserum?”

“Hello, my name is Draco Malfoy. My first interaction with V was in the war when Lord
Voldemort forced me and others to undergo torture as a form of withstanding the effects of
Veritaserum to make us immune to it in the event that we were ever caught and questioned. I was
then forced under duress and threat of the death of my family to create a concoction with the help
of others to make a stronger version of the potion, so that if any of us were ever in question, he
could pull the truth from us using V.”

“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. Now, why did it take you so long to come forward with the information
that you were immune to Veritaserum? Does this not call into question your entire trial previously
in which you were pardoned for your crimes as an underaged wizard?”

Draco watched as Granger’s eyes widened, the truth of why this trial was so important finally
finding its way through her brain as it showed in the widening of her eyes, the horror paling her
once pink cheeks.

“At first, I simply forgot. The trauma of the war forced my mind to block out most of what he made
me do. I was forced under Veritaserum to slice my fingers off, where he would then use dark magic
to regrow the bones and placed a stasis charm on them to make me stare at the open bones while
the skin tried to force itself to regrow over them. He made me watch as he made his followers r-
rape—rape women in front of me and laughed as he explained how my mother would be next if I
didn’t comply. All the times I was previously questioned under Veritaserum, I did not lie. I didn’t
have to. I wanted that monster dead as much as everyone else.”

The horror had grown on Granger’s face as the phantom pain from his fingertips grew.

His hand spasmed, and he knew he would be reliving the trauma in his nightmares when sleep took
him under its silky embrace.

“Mr. Malfoy—is it true that you are an Auror, assigned to protect one Hermione Granger currently
as your first official assignment?”

Draco’s eyes quirked up in confusion, because surely that wasn’t the last questioning they’d be
doing on the V, right?
“Yes.”

“And is it true that Miss Granger was suffering a wound inflicted upon her by Bellatrix Lestrange?
A wound that is slowly killing her?”

“No.”

The Minister startled, shocked.

“No?”

“No, she is not slowly dying from the wound. She was dying from a wound inflicted upon her by
Bellatrix Lestrange, yes, but she is no longer dying because of it. She has been healed.”

“And how has Miss Granger been healed from this wound, Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco glanced up at Granger and found acceptance in her beautiful warm eyes, her aura shining the
strongest even in the overwhelming court of onlookers.

“She decided to bind her soul to mine. We performed two out of the eighteen rituals of the
ceremony, and after the second, our bond forced the poison from her body. We found Bellatrix’s
journals, and she created the poison in the blade that cut Granger. The poison would not work
against those with the blood of the House of Black. Once my ancestral magic bonded with hers, it
healed her.”

“Mr. Malfoy—what is your relationship to Hermione Granger?”

Draco fought the urge to clamp his mouth shut, especially at the photographers flashing their
cameras in his face, but he found he couldn’t force the words back down.

“I am her protector. I am her soul bonded, and she is mine. She. Is. Mine.”

“Do you mean Miss Granger any harm?”

“No. I’d sooner harm myself than allow any to come to her.”

Draco found these questions were coming easier than the previous ones, wondering where the hell
Kingsley was going with this interview, but decided to let it roll off of him anyway, loving the
slight smile tipping up Granger’s lips and the scandalized whispers erupting all over the courtroom.

“What are your plans for Miss Granger?”

“I plan on completing the rituals, marrying her, and then raising any children she decides to give
me while she rises up in the ranks to take your job, Minister.”

Kingsley’s lips tilted up at the edges at Draco’s words, but Granger was staring at him, mouth open,
and he felt the sudden urge to give her something else to keep her mouth open like that later, when
they were very much alone.

“And lastly—did you mean any harm or ill will to the Ministry when you withheld the information
about the V to your superiors?”

“No.”
“Can you expand on that answer?”

“No, I meant no harm or ill will to the Ministry when I withheld information about the V. Once my
trial was over and I realized the Veritaserum hadn’t activated, I truly did not realize it because I’d
been completely truthful the entire time. Afterwards, I didn’t bring it up in order to keep from
reliving the torture I’d endured because of it.”

“Which is very understandable, Mr. Malfoy. Thank you for your candor, and the Ministry wishes
you well in your future. I now defer to the High Inquisitor for any remaining questions.”

The High Inquisitor, an Order member by the name of Hestia Jones, strode forward and placed her
begrudging eyes on Draco, as if reluctant to admit that Draco was truly innocent and not at fault of
anything but trying to save himself a bit of pain on the trip down memory lane.

“The Wizengamot has no remaining questions at this time. Mr. Malfoy, you are free to go.”

Draco stood as a flurry of activity exploded over by the Weasley section of the courtroom.

He saw a flash of red hair as they stormed over to where Granger and Potter sat, and Draco was up
and out of his seat and striding to her side in an instant.

Weasley had just uttered the word, “Whore,” in her direction as Draco pulled Granger behind him
and leered down at the shaking form of a red-faced Weasel.

“Call her that again, Weasel, and you’ll learn the true meaning of the word ‘torture’.”

Daphne pulled on her boyfriend’s arm as the rest of the court grew silent and watched on in
suspense, clearly discovering the true nature of one-third of the ‘Golden Trio’ as Potter placed a
hand on Draco’s chest, as well as his friend’s.

“Ron—that’s enough! You need to back off and get out. If you come near Hermione—or Malfoy—
again and try to start something, I will be there to finish it. Do you understand?”

The Weasel had the gall to act shocked.

“You’re really taking his side, Harry?”

“Yes, I really am. And—”

“Ronald Bilius Weasley! I know you did not just call Hermione that word!”

The crowd began thinning out, thankfully, and the press seemed less enthusiastic to fight with the
Weasley Matriarch as she eyed them all with that fiery temper she seemed to exude.

Molly Weasley ambled up to her wayward son and latched onto his arm, tears in her eyes.

“Hermione, dear, we might not understand the direction things have gone, but we support you
always. You will forever have a family within our hearts. Please consider my invitation to the
Burrow tomorrow, both of you. Come, Ronald. Perhaps your new girlfriend and I can talk some
sense into you.”

Daphne seemed incensed at the idea of having to scold her boyfriend after what he’d done so
publicly, but Draco watched as the Weasel reddened and acquiesced to his mother’s tirade, the rest
 of the Weasley clan following suit.

Granger clutched onto Draco’s robes as he turned, capturing her hands within his as he caught the
fire burning in her eyes even as they grew silver with unshed tears.

“Come on, Granger. I’m getting you out of here before the vultures can start picking you apart.”

“Yes, please. Goodbye Harry—thank you for sitting with me.”

“Of course, Hermione. I’m sorry about Ron. After what he said, I doubt there’s anything he can say
to get us to forgive him for how he’s acted.”

“That’s his own fault, then. His loss.”

Potter gave her a small, sad smile before nodding at Draco who returned the gesture and made off
to find his wife and children.

Draco grabbed ahold of his witch and felt immediately more stable, at ease within her presence.

“I’ve got something I want to show you.”

They Apparated together the moment they made it through the throng of imploring reporters and
nosy Ministry employees, landing in the soft, sweet atmosphere of Draco’s favorite place.

“Welcome to my escape plan.”

Granger turned in circles, gazing out at the heavily warded beach house and rounded on Draco once
more.

“I’m sorry—care to elaborate? What exactly are we escaping from?”

Draco came up to place his hands over her eyes, guiding her until they were at the water’s edge.

“Let me show you, Granger.”

She shivered as his words brought chills skating up the skin of her neck, and as he pressed his lips
to that spot, he realized the V was still in his veins, though its power was diminishing. He could
avoid certain questions if he so chose.

Pulling his hands off her eyes, she stared wide-eyed at the horizon bleeding into the water.

“Just a little taste of what you could have in our life, if you should just say the word.”

Her tiny gasp of surprise was delicate and decadent and warm, rich music to Draco’s ears.

He couldn’t fucking wait to make her make that sound again, and they had all night for him to do
so.

Chapter End Notes

Hello my lovely readers!

So sorry for the wait, so here you go--an absolute behemoth of a chapter I've been trying to
write for weeks that just came to me in 4 hours tonight, and I couldn't break it up, so please
enjoy the longest chapter I've ever written in my entire 9-year long career of writing!

I hope you all enjoy!

Please let me know what you think of this chapter!! I love hearing from you all!

Until next time my lovely readers,

Kristen :)
 Chapter 34
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Salty air tangled the strands of Hermione’s hair as the call of gulls by the sea pierced the calm day.

Draco’s hands were around her waist and his eyes were as piercing as the navy waves churning
ashore, a stilted breeze mingling through the breaths in the space between each heartbeat.

Calloused hands curled around the nape of her neck and suddenly their mouths were upon each
other’s in a frenzy, a feverish delirium of need—desire painting their tongues with want as their
bodies vibrated with the one sole purpose of passion.

Hermione breathed in sharply as Draco’s teeth carved a path down her neck, nipping on the delicate
skin showing above the neckline of the top she’d worn for the hearing—the hearing that had turned
her mind upside down and shook out its contents like it was her beaded bag filled with the non-
detectible extension charm.

The hearing had taken everything Hermione had ever known or thought and sent it careening out of
her head on the floor of the Wizengamot for everyone to see, and yet, she couldn’t tear her eyes
from Draco as he vowed that he was her protector, that he would marry her, raise up their children
—

“Granger,” Draco panted out, his hands spanning her hips and anchoring her to his body, “shut that
bloody mind off before I do it for you.”

“Please,” she couldn’t help but cry out in response, his breath fanning across her cheeks as the
waves crashed and spilled over their feet without a care for their shoes.

“What do you want, Granger? Use those pretty words of yours.”

His voice rasped out against the roar of the water and the whisper of the wind.

“Please, Draco,” she cried out as his teeth sunk into the skin of her neck just as his hands reached
up and ripped her blouse apart, buttons scattering to the wind as their own private stretch of beach
loomed out for miles and miles outward, the glimmering sparkle of the water shining in its radiance
under the peak of the golden sun above.

Clouds dotted the blue sky above as Hermione stared, open mouthed and writhing, while Draco
laved at her pulse point with his too-skilled tongue.

Encircling her neck with his hand and angling her just so, he crushed her against his body in such a
fashion that she was a slave to his cinnamon flavored passion and a wild personification of the
honey drenched sugared cherry taste of his too-pure desire.

“I do love it when you beg, Darling.”

The sky a cerulean blanket overhead dotted with puffy white clouds, Hermione closed her eyes
against the too-bright artistry and softened beneath his hands, throwing her own around his neck
and holding on until she could find the strength to use her legs again, but found herself being pulled
down to the ground and suddenly he was atop her, her back pressed into the grainy sand and his
eyes more blinding than the sun high above them.

His eyes, shining opulent like glowing moonstone opal against bleached sapphire irises, stared
down at her as the platinum strands of his hair brushed the canopy of his lashes.

The taste of honey dripped down her throat with his decadent stare, like he was savoring the taste
of it himself.

His mouth covered hers then, plush and velvet soft, swallowing down her moans and little cries of
pleasure while his hands wandered her body, ripping at the slit in her long skirt, her own hands
attacking the pure white Oxford covering his chest.

Smooth skin met her hands as her head fell back against the gritty pillow of sand beneath her,
Draco’s hands mapping out her body while pressing her into the ground, the waves spilling up
further and foaming around their ankles and legs though they didn’t notice as their clothes became
irrelevant in their frantic frenzy of need.

“You won’t be needing these anymore today, Granger,” he rasped out against her pulse point, the
resounding rip of elastic fabric washing away like the foamy waves as he rid her of her knickers.

The cool pads of his fingertips met the heated slickness of her center and she inhaled a salt-water
soaked breath, tasting down his senses and suffering beneath the touch of his torture-soft caress.

Her moans were wild and frenetic, catapulting up out of her throat and into the warm air of the day.

There was something so shocking and bewildering about what she was doing with Draco Malfoy in
the middle of the day out in the open on a beach with sand coarse between their bodies as they
soaked each other up like salt to the water.

Yes, it was strange and unprecedented and inconceivably so out of character for Hermione that she
wanted to screech aloud at the absurdity of it, but as he leaned down and dipped his head between
her legs, she was suddenly begging to scream for an entirely different reason.

Because though it was so new and different, Hermione knew that this was exactly where she was
supposed to be and, staring down at the phoenix brand expanding its golden, shimmering wings on
his neck, Hermione could never doubt the fact that somehow, someway, fate had brought them back
together again for this very reason.

His tongue slipped inside of her and her eyes rolled into the back of her head, uncaring of the salt
water lapping at her lower body which must’ve been drenching Draco as well, but neither of them
seemed to care or realize where exactly they were, just that they were taking what they needed from
one another and that was all that mattered.

“Oh, Gods, yes!”

A lithe finger glided through her slick entrance and Hermione grabbed ahold of Draco’s hair,
holding him firm against her as the thick of his tongue pressed against her and she arched her back
in response, mumbling incoherently as shocks of her orgasm crashed upon her not unlike the waves
coming in fast from the surf.
“Draco!”

A wolfish, purely satisfied smile spread across Draco’s mouth as he continued feasting upon her
through the aftershocks and it was only when Hermione almost bucked entirely out of his grasp that
he let her go.

“That’s it, Darling. Tell me how much you want it.”

He crawled up her body and she only just then realized that he’d somehow divested himself of the
clothing on his bottom half and suddenly they were both gloriously naked beneath the light of the
high sun, bodies awash with golden light and bronzed sand while they writhed against each other.

“Please, Draco!”

He bit down on the feverish salt stained skin where her neck met her shoulder.

“Please what, Granger? Use those pretty words of yours, Darling.”

He nudged at her entrance with the long, hard length of him and she gasped as she glanced down to
find it surpassing any and all expectations she’d ever had for what she thought Draco Malfoy’s
cock might’ve looked like.

Pale, veiny and shiny from the weeping slit at the top, Draco edged himself even closer to her until
she was clawing at his back, a desperate keen rising up in her throat as she tugged him ever closer
with her heels as they wrapped around his hips but still he did not enter her.

“Nghuhh!”

His lightly teasing chuckle sent shockwaves of chills racing down her spine, her back arching of its
own accord as his teeth grazed the soft shell of her ear, his breath mingling with the breeze of the
late afternoon.

“What was that? I don’t think I quite caught that one, Granger.”

“Fuck me, Draco!”

A relieved whine escaped her throat at the moment he finally relented and the deep push of him
stretched her wide as she struggled to adjust herself to him, the burning tingle of his pulsing cock
filling her inch by glorious inch until he was fully seated at the hilt, her fingernails digging crescent
moons into his shoulders as she held him firm to her.

“Alright there, Darling?”

She nodded her head, eyes shut against the sizzling heat of the sun and the overwhelmingly thick
length of him that was finally, blessedly, inside of her.

Hermione marveled at that fact—Draco Malfoy was inside of her.

They’d acted like ravenous beasts attacking each other on the surf as if they had no self control
whatsoever, but Hermione found that she herself didn’t quite mind that fact.

Actually, it was his loss of control that had her hooking her heels around his lower back and
nudging him in even further.
 “Please,” she whimpered out, eyes finally opening to that wondrous head of platinum blonde hair
and gaze of deepest navy matching the murky deep blues farther out at sea.

As he finally seated himself to the hilt inside of her, she felt impossibly full of him.

The muscles of his back contracted beneath her fingertips as she traced them across every part she
could gain access to, his low groan of approval vibrating against her chest as he surged forward and
retreated, the heated stretch of him eliciting a deep throated whine from her throat a the sensation
cresting through her body.

Hermione watched the mark on his neck unfurl its wings as the Phoenix shimmered and glowed in
the sunlight, Draco’s own eyes falling down to the mark he’d placed upon her.

Draco reached for her hands and placed them up above her head, the surf mixing with their panting
breaths as their eyes held, and did not let go.

His fingers crushed into hers and held them tight, and all the while she could not look away.

Not as a blinding light burst forth from the mark on his neck, a heat emanating from Hermione’s
neck as she assumed her mark did the same.

An all encompassing wealth of joy struck Hermione in such a way that tears rolled down her
cheeks in salty rivulets mixing with the splash of the sea and the briny ocean breeze, Draco’s
forehead falling down upon her own as they rode out the everlasting wave of pleasure and love that
portrayed itself in the honey taste of Draco’s lips, in the syrupy sweet decadence of his emotions
towards her that he could not hide.

As Draco’s motions grew erratic and his thrusts pierced that glorious spot deep inside of her, their
breaths mingled and their heartbeats synced while that ancient and near forgotten magic that bound
the two of them together to never part rose and rose until they both fell apart, crashing down upon
each other in a release mimicking the crush of waves upon the shore of their own making.

Hermione, near delirious in her ecstasy, could feel herself being carried by Draco inside the
beachside house and placed atop the softest of downy beds, ensconced in a sheet of white silk and
transported to sheer bliss in the wake of something Hermione had only dreamt of since the war,
afraid to dare put a name to it in fear of it escaping her, the taste of it warm and pure on her tongue
as it flowed from Draco—the taste of happiness.

Chapter End Notes

Hello my lovely readers! This delay came as a result of a bout of recurring pneumonia that
kept me under the weather for longer than I have ever been, and I want to attribute it to a form
of long covid, and I've only been writing one chapter a week for a contracted story on Wattpad
and have really lost the initiative and motivation for writing, but I'm going on vacation this
week and hoping that will spark and reinvigorate a new burst of creativity for this story!

I have so many ideas for new Dramione stories but of course I'll be finishing this one first!
Ideas include--an 8th year fic with a damaged Hermione and a toxic Draco, a Haunting
Adeline inspired cat and mouse stalker dramione story, and a story in which Hermione is
assumed dead after the war, but undercover with help of the Ministry, Draco discovers her
held captive by one of the last Death Eater cells and does whatever he can to save her.

So yeah, I have a LOT of ideas, and not enough energy to write them, but all these plot
bunnies will hopefully make their way to ao3 in the coming months!

Until then, please enjoy the rest of this story as I finish writing Stealing Emeralds--it's really
been so much fun joining the community in this way!

Until next time my lovely readers,

Kristen :)
 Chapter 35
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

July 7th, 2005

The next morning that they awoke together, Hermione was glad that they’d escaped their lives for
the weekend, refusing to answer any letters delivered by owl, content to read the missives and be
sure that they weren’t needed in any emergent matter and continued on blissfully as they were: in
the shower, on the surf, in the shallows, tangled up in the sheets on the day bed of the porch with
the breeze flowing through, caressing each others bodies in the porcelain standing tub, up against
the wall in the bedroom, on the counter in the kitchen where he’d laid her out, displayed like his
own personal meal.

It was like the bond between them refused to let either of them get any sort of rest, and Hermione
definitely wasn’t complaining.

Until she looked down at the pristine white sheets and saw blood.

Blood from a menstrual cycle that she hadn’t had since the battle in the Department of Mysteries in
her fifth year, when Dolohov had hit her with a curse leaving her womb bereft and her menstruation
permanently eliminated.

Or so she had thought.

Once perfectly regular and marked down in her calendar religiously, she still recalled the exact day
it would appear in the month. The seventh…

And the date was the seventh of July.

Draco saw the blood and paled even further than he already was.

“Hermione, what is this? Did I—”

Draco spread her legs and took in the bright red blood, concern for her etched onto his stormy
features.

“I’m fine, actually. I…I think it’s my monthly cycle if I’m correct on my past dates.”

“Why do you sound so surprised about that? Shouldn’t you have known it was coming then?”

Hermione sat up quickly and reached for her wand, using a few cleansing charms she’d learned
from Molly and then vanished as much as she could until there was hardly a spot left, crossing her
legs until scooting to the edge of the bed to keep the rest of the blood from getting on anything.

“Well, it’s just that I haven’t had one in years, since the scarring from Dolohov’s curse actually. I…
Madame Pomfrey told me afterwards, in fifth year, that I would be infertile until I underwent
serious and rigorous healing to return it, and losing my monthly cycle was just more evidence of
that fact. But now…”

“Now, your cycle is back…”

Suddenly, Draco shot forward and pulled the sheet down from where she’d held it up against her
chest.

“What are you—”

“Just let me check something.”

She let him do as he bid and laid back on the bed while he scoured his eyes over her naked body,
cataloguing each and every freckle, mole, scar…

“It’s gone,” she breathed out in shock.

She was sure her scar from the curse she’d been hit with was there the night before. She was
positive she’d seen it in the mirror after getting ready for bed.

“What in Morgana’s name—Draco, what does this mean? I—my cycle is back, the scar is gone,
I’m healed from the poisoned wound…did the bond between us heal everything, as well? Is that
even possible?”

Draco glanced down at the greying mark on his naked forearm and shivered.

“I haven’t felt it as much these days,” he began, his face a mask of ashen wonder and horrified awe.

“Most of the time, it would sting or burn and I’d scratch at it absentmindedly. I haven’t noticed it as
much since we’ve been here, but I just thought that was because…”

“Because what?”

“Because you’ve been distracting me, making me blissfully happy and what have you.”

Hermione’s cheeks filled with blood at his words, but she didn’t let that derail their conversation.

“We’ll have to do more research when we return home. We could ask your parents if something
similar happened to them as well.”

Draco glanced down at his mark again wistfully.

“Yes, yes we will.”

“Draco.”

He turned his eyes back up to hers.

“It will go away. If this all happened with mine…I’ll teach you how to siphon magic and we’ll try it
out. If it worked for me, then it should work for you. It might be a combination of the bond and the
siphoning. Whatever it is, I know you want that thing gone, and I am going to make that happen.”

“You don’t have to do that for me, Granger, you—”

“You deserve to have that thing gone from your arm. You are not that person anymore—you never
really were. You don’t deserve to live out the rest of your life with that reminder on your arm.
We…we never really spoke about what you said on the stand during the trial—about what
happened to you when he was in your home.”

Draco’s face grew closed off, a tightness forming around his mouth as it drew down into a sneer
she wasn’t all too unfamiliar with.

“It’s of no consequence now. We don’t need to wallow in the past.”

“But Draco—”

“I can’t, alright?”

He stood, running his hands through his platinum hair as he began pacing the room.

“And I can’t ask you to do that for me, to keep siphoning magic like it isn’t killing you—just so
that you could maybe, possibly see if you could get this monstrosity of a mark off of me!”

Hermione stood to stop him but he shrugged her off, running his hands through his hair as if this
conversation were physically causing him pain.

“Ask me to do that? Would you do it for me? Draco—Draco look at me! Would you do it for me?”

He turned and fell to his knees in front of the bed where she was kneeling before him.

Hermione reached for him and threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling on the strands so that
he had to tilt his face upward to meet his eyes.

“The things he made me do, Hermione—I can’t talk about it. I can’t tell you of those horrors in that
house—and I can’t let you try and hurt yourself further for my sake. There is no point in saving
someone damned. Yes, I would do it for you—I’d siphon all the magic in the world and drain my
bones to a husk if it meant to save you from any misery my family might’ve inflicted upon you.”

“And yet you ask me to not try to do the same for you? Why is it alright for you, but not for me?
Wouldn’t your death also entail mine now that we’re bonded as we are? You can’t say things like
that Draco, not when it means that you believe yourself to be less worthy of life than me.”

Draco leaned his head forward until it rested against her stomach, wrapping his arms around her
waist until they were almost fused together and she couldn’t tell where he ended and where she
began—until his heart beat with hers and her lungs breathed in and his breathed out their shared
oxygen.

“It doesn’t matter what happened during the war, or what he did or made you do—it won’t make
me see you any differently than I do now. You believe that, don’t you?”

“You don’t know what he made me do, Granger.”

“Then tell me!”

“You don’t want to hear it. It would only make you sick. Why don’t you call Pinky and see if she’ll
help you clean up, we need to get going anyway. We have to get back to our jobs on Sunday, and
I’m sure Boy Wonder and his gang of Weasleys will be desperate to talk to you after the show the
Weasel put on at the trial.”

Draco pulled away from her but Hermione was hesitant to allow him to go just yet, tugging on his
arm as he stood and bringing him back to face her, his eyes closed off and guarded as if he’d pulled
his Occlumency walls down, like he was desperate to keep the truth about what happened to him
during the war a secret even despite the fact that he’d been made to tell the truth of it on the stand
under truth serum.

“I don’t want to leave things this way, Draco.”

“Well, you’re going to have to. I’m not going to make you talk about traumatic things that
happened to you during the war, so please don’t ask me to do the same.”

Hermione withdrew her hand, her own eyes shuttering just as her heart did an unnecessary flip as
his hair caught a stray beam in the sunlight, his melancholy tasting of bitter chocolate in her mouth
even as his Occlumency attempted to hide his true emotions, but because of her ring he’d given her,
there was no hiding it.

He could try to put up walls, but he’d never be able to successfully shut her out.

That was why she reached out and placed her hands on his shoulders and tugged him back down
onto her not caring of the mess she might’ve made with her cycle.

“Granger, I—”

“Please, Draco. Let me do this for you.”

As if he’d read her mind and knew what she was trying to do, Draco relented beneath her touch and
melted with her words, those walls lowering ever so slowly until she could taste his desire on her
tongue.

Hermione pulled Draco down on top of her on their shared bed and wrapped her legs around him
until his mouth met hers and quieted his sorrow with her lips.

She drew circles on his skin and thought the words in her mind, wondering when he’d be ready to
hear them—the words she hoped were reflected back in her aura to him as his eyes locked onto
hers as he slid into her one more time.

“The rest of the world can wait one more moment, can it not?”

“My greedy girl—I suppose it is only fair I give my future wife exactly what she wants.”

Even if he couldn’t give her his past, he could still give her his future.

She only hoped his balm would be enough to soothe the pain writhing inside of him as it had done
with her while her own scar was still branded onto her arm.

And despite his arguments, Hermione knew she’d find a way to rid him of his own pain as she
turned her head to the side and saw that mark on his arm as she climaxed around him.

He’d said it himself—he would do it for her, and there was nothing she wouldn’t do for the man
she loved.
Chapter End Notes

Hello my lovely readers!

I hope you enjoy this latest chapter, and I can't believe it, but theres only FIVE chapters left of
this story--how did I do that?

(There will be LOTS of extra epilogue chapters though, don't worry :)

Please let me know what you think of this story so far and how you think everything will be
resolved!

Until next time my lovely readers,

Kristen :)
 Chapter 36
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

July 8th, 2005

Draco tugged Hermione against the bookshelf in the sitting room and slammed his mouth against
hers before she’d ever even had a chance to sip her tea.

“Are you going to make me late to work, Malfoy?”

He growled and slid his calloused hands further up her thighs.

“You call me Draco now, witch.”

“Is that right?”

Hermione had meant to tease him, but her breathy, needy voice robbed her of that simple pleasure.

It only took the whoosh of the Floo in the adjacent room to break them up, but not before a swift
clearing of someone’s voice.

“I see Potter was right—we do need to announce ourselves before just letting ourselves in.”

The voice of Pansy Parkinson in their home—Draco’s home—had Hermione pulling her dressing
robe tighter around herself and squeaking in surprise against Draco’s body.

He didn’t do anything to hide what they’d been doing, or the fact that he was gloriously shirtless
and pressed against her tightly enough to hide the evidence of his arousal so early in the morning.

“We’ve only been back in Wiltshire one night and already the wolves descend to ruin our fun.”

“And what fun that appears to be,” came another voice after the telltale sound of green flames.

“Remind me why I allowed for my Floo to be open to the two of you?”

Theodore Nott appraised the two of them in their compromising position as a cheeky grin flitted
onto his face.

“My, my. The Golden girl and the Silver Prince. You two certainly know how to announce a
relationship, I’ll give you that.”

“Oh, Gods. What’s Skeeter written now?”

“Oh, not Skeeter, Granger. She seems to be on your side surprisingly. No, this one’s all Miss
Brown’s doing.”
Pansy averted her eyes while Hermione reluctantly pulled away from Draco, his eyes watching her
every move as if held magnetized to her form by some unseen force that even she could not feel.

Hermione reached out to the paper in the other witch’s hands while Theo pulled Draco to the side
for a bit of taunting it would seem, and Hermione’s eyes widened at the sight before her.

“‘Secret Ancient Pureblood Marital Rituals, And What They Have To Do With Hermione Granger
and Draco Malfoy’s New Relationship,’” Hermione read aloud, her eyes narrowing in annoyance
before flicking the paper back in her hands to gloss over the details that Lavender had certainly
already gotten wrong.

“Excuse me—we did not ‘make love’ under the light of the full moon!”

“Yeah,” Draco butted in, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and placing his chin on
the top of her head, “all we did was dance naked beneath it.”

Theo snorted his laughter while Pansy’s smile was a sinisterly pleased smirk that even Voldemort
himself would’ve been wary of.

“My, my, Granger. I hadn’t known you to be so… amenable to Pureblood culture. Add Draco’s
naked body into the mix and suddenly you’re up for anything, it seems.”

“Don’t you start Theodore Nott. I’m still technically your superior. I could have you scrubbing the
floors if I so wished.”

“Ruthless, Draco. I see why the two of you fit so nicely together.”

“Well, I for one am thoroughly disgusted at this vomit inducing display of domesticity. I have
business at the Ministry and was wondering if the two of you could somehow help me in my
predicament?”

“What do you need?”

“It’s about my father.”

Hermione and Draco tensed, and Theo shifted nervously on his feet.

“What about him?”

Hermione’s voice edged carefully away from the razor sharp pinprick of nerves nestled in her
throat when Pansy narrowed her eyes on all three of them.

“We all know there was more to the story about his execution, and in the battle afterwards and the
lingering mix-up, he was subsequently deemed ‘missing’. I want to know the actual truth—I feel as
if I’m owed that, after everything at least.”

Hermione shuddered where she stood, and Draco held onto her just a little tighter.

Perhaps it was time to finally tell her the truth, both of them.

“I think…I think you’ll both want to sit down for this.”

***

“Bloody fucking hell, that was worse than I thought it would be.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I tried to soften the blow, but—”

“No, Granger. Your drink making skills are atrocious.”

Leave it to Pansy to try and cheer up a group who’d just learned the truth about what she’d done to
their fathers.

“So…his magic is just gone?”

“Dissipated at this point I assume. I don’t feel any lingering affects from it, and my magic is more
or less the same, if not a bit stronger but I suppose that’s more due to my bond with Draco than
anything.”

Theo searched Hermione’s eyes carefully, trying to decide what he should say next.

It was strange, knowing such intimate information about the two of them. It was like they were
waiting for her to drop the proverbial shoe on them.

If they knew her better, they’d know she never planned to use any of the information she learned in
the siphoning of their fathers against them, ever.

The memories of Pansy in her father’s magic was enough to make Hermione’s stomach roil and
lurch in bed at night, seeking comfort in the arms of the man beside her who hadn’t taken his eyes
off her since she’d started speaking.

He hadn’t even protested sharing classified Ministry secrets with them.

He trusted her and her judgement implicitly.

It was something she wasn’t used to, what with her friends always questioning her, asking her what
the hell she’d been thinking after doing something impulsive.

His arm hadn’t left her side since they’d taken up a spot on the two-seater couch in the sitting room,
his fingers rubbing soft circles into her skin as she explained everything to them.

“So, my father, a Muggle-born hating fanatic, lost his magic to help save the life of one, and then it
disappeared into the ether. How…truly fucking poetic. Cheers to you, Granger.”

She’d left out the part where she knew the details about the type of magic that was used and
witnessed the memories from which they were made.

She didn’t feel like making them more uncomfortable in the moment that she knew she would’ve
been had the roles been reversed.

She only hoped Pansy and Theo were doing better now that their vile father figures were out of the
picture.
“So, where is he now though? My father, and Pansy’s.”

“Well, we assume Nott escaped with his memory erased, so he could be anywhere, but Parkinson
Sr. was killed in one of the initial blasts after the attack at the Ministry.”

“Huh. Nott Sr. on the loose as a penniless Muggle. I’d call that poetic as well.”

“And may my bastard father rot in hell.”

“Here, here!”

They toasted to her father’s death and Hermione found herself in a surreal situation where she was
getting chummy with three Slytherins that had hated her implicitly upon meeting her.

How had this become her life?

Suddenly, a blue wisp of magic darted through the air, a stag bouncing and jumping around until it
landed in front of Hermione and opened its mouth, the alerted voice of Harry Potter emanating
from its mouth.

“Hermione, it’s Ron—he’s been kidnapped. One of our raids was ambushed, and they killed
Robards. We need you at the Ministry—Robards’ timetable had officially moved up. You’re
second-in-command. I need you.”

As Harry’s Patronus flickered and drifted away, Hermione sat and started at the place where it had
been.

Ron—kidnapped. Harry—head of the DMLE, and Hermione, his second-in-command.

Draco stood at once and Hermione followed suit, her eyes wide with a panic as he leaned down and
placed a warm kiss on her lips, wishing she could fall into it and forget about the rest of the
convoluted, fucked up world around them.

“It’ll be alright, Darling. You heard him—Potter needs you, which invariably means he needs me,
too. Wherever you go, I go. Got that?”

She nodded, swallowing a thick lump in her throat before turning to Pansy and Theo…her…
friends?

“Go and save the day Granger, it’s what you were made for anyway. I got what I wanted today, you
just let me know if you need me and I’ll be there.”

“Thanks, Pansy.”

She winked at Hermione before turning on her heel and disappearing into the fireplace.

Theo stood at attention, awaiting orders.

“Well, if you weren’t my boss before, you sure as hell are now, Granger. What’s the game plan?”

“I…guess I have to go and save my ex-boyfriend.”

Draco cursed before shooting her a rueful smile.

 “I’ve always wanted the Weasel to owe me a life debt. Let’s go and make it happen, Darling.”

Hermione, Theo and Draco whooshed to the Ministry after quickly dressing and walked into utter
chaos.

And Hermione and Harry were to be in charge of it.

She took a deep breath and commanded everyone’s attention with a single look.

She ordered teams of four, Aurors and detectives alike, along with specialty teams who would be
following the trail of those who’d been lost in the fudged raid.

Someone was assigned to catch her up on what she’d missed in her absence, and she silently cursed
Harry for naming her his number 2, but with Ron missing, she only assumed that he wanted
someone he would trust with his life on his side. It made sense, but damn if Hermione wasn’t a bit
resentful of the sheer amount of information she was behind on.

Suddenly an interdepartmental memo flew directly to her and she unraveled it just as she looked
across the conference room and saw Draco catching her eye, his platinum hair falling into his navy
eyes and she could taste his frenzied approach to the situation, his worry for her. His desire as he
watched her at work.

Then she opened the memo and inhaled sharply.

Greyback.

Somehow, he’d gotten a missive inside the Ministry.

Someone was working with him in the Ministry, that much Hermione already knew, otherwise her
tea wouldn’t have been able to be spiked.

But now more than ever it was clear.

“Come alone,” it read.

“Come alone, and he won’t be harmed. Neither will your boss. He’s still alive. Come alone, and
they’ll be spared.”

Hermione backed out of the DMLE, inconspicuous and heart roaring in her ears.

The elevator pitched her forwards and back until she ended up in the Department of Mysteries as
she’d been directed.

It always came back to the Department of Mysteries for Hermione, after all.

There, in the center of the room, stood Ron with his back to the werewolf.

The Death Eaters had infiltrated the Ministry, and it was Hermione who was about to pay the price.

Chapter End Notes

Hello my lovely readers!

Sorry for the delays, life happens to happen.

I hope you all enjoy the story, it's starting to ramp up!

What do you think is going to happen next?

Until next time my lovely readers,

Kristen :)
 Chapter 37
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

July 8 2005

Ron Weasley surveyed the situation before him with a detached disposition, allowing himself to fall
back into his Auror training as the woman that he’d loved half his life walked into the same fucking
trap that had been laid for him, only with his newest love as the victim instead.

Daphne had been lured to the Department of Mysteries just as he had, and when he’d received the
missive that he needed to come alone, he hadn’t thought twice.

His life might’ve been drastically altered after the war, his mistakes and decisions clearly
questionable, but one thing was certain—he would never let another suffer if he could help it.

Unless they deserved it…

“Don’t the three of you ever learn?”

Greyback’s voice was rough behind Ron, his body shaking as Hermione stepped closer to view the
scene before her, a guarded look on her face that Ron knew meant nothing but trouble when it came
to her.

He’d underestimated her more than once in his life, and he wasn’t about to start just then.

No, if he knew anything, he knew in his bones that Hermione Granger was anything but unprepared
when walking into what she clearly already knew was an ambush.

It still didn’t make him comfortable about their chances, though, especially as the masked Death
Eaters encircled them in a move that was eerily similar to their battle in the very same place in their
Fifth Year, the Veil where Sirius had dissipated into standing stoically behind them.

“Hermione, get out of here!”

His eyes flicked to where Daphne had been incapacitated in the corner, slumped on her side
immediately after she’d been stunned and her wand had been stolen from her, just as his had been
after he’d been stunned.

None of them made a move to take Hermione’s, however, and Ron furrowed his eyebrows in
confusion as to what the rogue Death Eaters wanted.

They surely had to be the last of them if the amount of insurgents they’d captured after the war was
any indication of their numbers, so this had to have been their last stand, and what a hell of a last
stand it would be if they killed two-thirds of the Golden fucking Trio.

Ron had to make sure that wouldn’t be happening.

“I’m afraid none of you will be leaving here just yet, at least, not until our mysterious benefactor
finally makes his—or her—appearance to let us know what they want to do with you.”

Greyback’s excessive facial hair scratched the back of Ron’s neck where he had gripped him so
tightly against his front that he could scent the stench of body odor and wet dog, wishing that
Hermione had done something clever already like she always did.

Maybe Harry was somewhere hiding under his cloak? Surely she wouldn’t have come alone?

Hermione whispered an incantation under her breath…but nothing happened.

She tried again, louder this time, and he could tell it was a wandless Incarcerous, but still…no
magic appeared out of thin air like it should’ve.

What the hell…?

“Having trouble with your magic little Mudblood? Take a look down at the circle you stepped into
the second you entered this room.”

What?

Ron looked to the side and there, shimmering on the very edge of the room where the rest of the
Death Eaters were wary to step through, was a circle of something white and sparkling, glinting in
the low lights of the wide, open room.

“Look familiar? We’ve done some research into what you’ve been doing here Mudblood. We
wanted a front row seat to the show.”

Something dangerous roiled in Ron’s stomach as the door opened, and steady shoes clicked on the
tile floor.

“Ah, that must be our benefactor now. Tell me dear Mudblood, did you enjoy that poisoning in your
tea? How about having all your plans leaked, about us knowing exactly when and where to
detonate that bomb?”

“You’re taking orders from someone you don’t even know? Sounds like you never learned from the
last time. Aren’t you supposed to be an Alpha?”

Ron doubled over as Greyback slammed his free hand into his abdomen, but he didn’t care.
Anything to get his attention off Hermione, who still had yet to utter a word with those calculating
eyes sweeping over each and every surface, attempting to come up with what to do next, but Ron
could already tell she was grasping at straws even before his mysterious ‘benefactor’ that had
betrayed all of them swept into the room.

And when his eyes fell upon the form of the person who’d caused all of this chaos…even Ron
could admit that he was just a little bit shocked, even though he shouldn’t have been.

The way they looked at each other, it gave him pause to believe it.

But he knew down in his bones, this person was never someone he could trust. Not after
everything.

Hermione, though?
He doubted she’d ever be able to come back from this.

Greyback laughed sharply at his back.

“Oh, I should’ve known it was you. It makes the most sense, really.”

One of the Death Eaters in the outer circle clapped him on the back as he stepped up, his eyes never
leaving Hermione’s.

She was shaking where she stood, her eyes rooted to his, and it was like they were trying to have a
silent conversation but the lines were crossed.

And then, she spoke.

“What have you done?”

His eyes hardened into slits and Ron watched in real time as Draco Malfoy transformed into a beast
before his eyes.

His posture straightened even further, if that was possible.

His aura pulsed with danger, his lips curling into a sneer at the sight of those in front of him.

“What do you think I’ve done, Granger? I’ve done what needs to be done.”

The Death Eaters laughed and Greyback shoved Ron to his feet in the middle of the circle before
retreating, stepping over the circle before a blast of light caused Ron to shield his eyes, Hermione
stumbling as the energy pulsed through her as well.

“Well, go on then. Give us a show. Let’s all see what happens when Hermione Granger steals
magic, just like we all knew she’d already done.”

Ron stiffened at Greyback’s words, flicking up to his best friend.

“Steal the Blood Traitor’s magic, Mudblood, or we’ll set off the other bomb we’ve hidden—at your
best friend’s house. I think his children are home today, with his lovely little Blood Traitor wife,
yes?”

Ron seized, his body going stock still, terrified of both realities laid out before him.

Let Hermione steal his magic, or let the Death Eaters kill Harry’s kids? There was no choice.

“Do it, Hermione.”

She cut vicious eyes to him.

“They’ll do it anyway, Ron, don’t you see? They’ll get what they want, and then they’ll kill them
anyway.”

“Now now, Granger. You know I’m a man of my word. I’ll let Potter’s spawn live if you do this for
me. You do want to please me, don’t you Darling?”
Hermione…she visibly shuddered at Malfoy’s words, like the soft way in which they were spoken
to her made the very same nausea that Ron felt roil through his stomach do the very same to her,
only on a much deeper level, like his words caused a visceral reaction inside of her.

Ron then remembered…the bond.

How had Malfoy gotten away with it? How had he been able to hurt her, with such ancient magic
tethering them to each other?

He wasn’t technically hurting her, physically he supposed.

He’d probably tricked her with a servant’s bond instead of a marital one, though. Tied her to him
like a fucking slave and made her think it was her choice.

The pure blankness in his eyes made Ron think he was probably Occluding it all away, though, if
he hadn’t.

If it was a real marital bond, doing this to her would’ve been excruciating. He wasn’t sure how he’d
be surviving it.

Ron’s parents had done it. They couldn’t harm each other as much as they could harm themselves.

And then he remembered his trial in front of the Wizengamot, how he’d taken the more potent
version of Veritaserum, and had apparently lied. Had he somehow resisted that version of it as
well? Ron had been ordered to try and withstand its effects during training after they’d learned of
the newer variation, and it’s strength was so powerful he’d started blabbing some of his darkest
secrets to his fellow Aurors without having even been prompted with a question.

If Malfoy could withstand that kind of potion, Ron had absolutely no idea the kind of Wizard they
were dealing with.

Hermione strode to the edge of the barrier where Malfoy stood just out of reach, but where her
hand should’ve been able to extend outwards to slap him in the face, her skin met an invisible
boundary keeping her locked inside.

“You can’t make me do this—you can’t make me do anything.”

Greyback chuckled as Malfoy remained silent.

“No, Mudblood? Not even if we kill this little one? Or what about your boss?”

Greyback’s words from the other side of the room made her pause and turn to find Daphne in his
arms, Robards’ unconscious body hung limply in the arms of another Death Eater.

Wands were trained on both of their necks, and suddenly Greyback awoke Daphne from her
stunned state and her eyes darted wildly around the room, face crumpling into heartbreak at the
sight before her.

“What—Ron?”

She’d barely uttered his name before the Crucio cut her off, those beautiful blue eyes closing in
pain and fear.
“NO! Hermione, do it! I don’t fucking care, just do it! If they’ll do this, they’ll kill anyone! I—it
doesn’t matter, just take it!”

Her eyes were filled with unshed tears as she surveyed the situation, Malfoy edging around the
circle with calculating eyes not dissimilar to Hermione’s as she was sussing out the circumstances,
but his were more lethal, ready to kill at the drop of a dime. He liked to think Hermione was a bit
more cautionary with human life than he knew Malfoy was.

His gut roiled at the thought of all that the two of them had shared in their bond, at how he’d turned
out to be nothing more than the spineless traitor he’d always known he was, but then Hermione was
turning to him, crouching in front of him with tears swimming in her eyes.

Eyes he thought he’d once drown inside of, until that emotional bond tying them together had
snapped and he’d never been the same since.

He thought he’d finally found what he was looking for in Daphne, but it looked like that wasn’t
going to work out for him after all.

He didn’t deserve a happily ever after, not after the way he’d treated his friends, his family, the
witch in front of him weeping for what he’d lose. Or maybe it was for what she’d already lost—he
wasn’t sure, couldn’t tell, not in that moment as Daphne’s screams permeated the air.

“Close your eyes, Ron. Cut your fingernails into your palm until you get some blood. It’ll be over
soon, I promise.”

Her voice was soft, comforting, familiar.

He sliced into his palm as best as he could with his blunt fingernails, but eventually he produced a
wound big enough to draw blood and she did the same.

“How are you going to do this without magic?”

“It doesn’t block the kind of magic I need to do this, I can tell. It’s a bit different, modified from
how I usually do things, and I don’t know how they did it but they were able to mollify all the
magic except for the needs of the ritual. Okay, now close your eyes for real this time.”

He listened to her, because, what else was he supposed to do?

“Hermione—I’m sorry. I—”

“Shh. None of that, now. You’ll have plenty of time to apologize when we make it out of here.”

Except he had a feeling he wouldn’t be escaping. She might—Merlin knew Hermione Granger was
a survivor, but him? He’d be lucky to get away with only losing his magic.

And then…she started.

She stood, and Ron was too weak to keep his eyes closed.

The words spilled from her mouth, and Ron was stunned at how much she looked like a fucking
goddess there in that moment, all eyes on her in pure, unabashed awe, even if most of those in the
room hated her just for her blood. They couldn’t deny her power.
She spoke the words like a worship, the cadence like a prayer sung in a meadow somewhere.

Heal me, o er’ the ancient lands,

The promised hands
Perform the rites of spirits past
To meld the dying to the light at last

Take that which is not given,

Absorb that which is undeserved
Taste the power unbidden,
Seep into the well’s reserves

Take the Dark and make it light,

Spin the tales of moonlit hallows
Imbibe in the nectar of the night,
Send the evil to the gallows!

Ron twitched as searing pain emanated from the middle of his chest, where he always thought his
magic originated from.

Memories of all the curses and hexes he’d flung at those, deserving and not, flashed through his
mind.

They weren’t in abundance, but Ron knew there were too many moments where his magic had
come from a place of hatred and misunderstanding than real joy or love for the gift he was born
with.

He wondered if Hermione was seeing what he was—his magical memory, her swirling in the air
with an eerie green light lifting her up off the ground as she twirled and chanted and soaked up the
magic seeping from his skin.

He couldn’t breathe as he clutched at his chest, the memory of the one and only Unforgivable he’d
ever perform playing in his mind’s eye.

An Imperius on a Death Eater during the final battle of Hogwarts, where he’d forced him to turn
the Killing Curse on himself instead of George.

He and his brother had never spoken of it again, but there was blood on his hands, and he was
losing the magic that would allow him to do it again.

Tears were spilling down the cheeks of the girl he once called his best friend, and even after the
way he’d treated her, he hoped she’d forgive him for that moment of weakness.

Malfoy met his eyes over Hermione’s shoulders, and there was such a blank mask of nothingness
on his face that Ron could almost convince himself that hurting Hermione wasn’t affecting him in
the slightest.

It was only in the slight twitch of Malfoy’s wrist that Ron slowly started to understand, even as he
began fading in unconsciousness like Robards.
 Robards…who was slowly coming to.

Robards, who took in the scene with a furious shade of purple on his face, whipping his head to and
fro as if…as if he knew what was supposed to happen, and this was his plan all going off kilter.

“What do you want to do with the Blood Traitor when she’s done, boss?”

“Boss?”

Robards damn near cracked his neck to where Malfoy stood, but at the flick of a shiny dagger in
Malfoy’s hand and the wand at his side, a wordless incantation set it flying and into the necks of the
gathered Death Eaters, and that was when the real chaos began.

The circle’s energy flickered and ended in a great whoosh like a gasping breath and then the
invisible barrier came crashing down around them like glass in a wave of sprinkled shards, and
Hermione dropped to the ground at once.

She didn’t stay down long, though, not as spells began whizzing by her head.

She took one look at Malfoy who’d strode to her side, mouthed a silent apology to Ron, and then
took off running down the hallway.

The pieces had only started to fit together in his mind when Ron gazed into the eyes of the man
who used to be his boss right as he pointed his wand his way, a Killing Curse on the tip of his
tongue just as one Theodore Nott appeared out of thin air and shot off a stunner, dropping over
Daphne’s prone form and shielding her from the rest of the onslaught.

“Alright, Weasley?”

Bloody Hell.

Robards had almost killed him, and Theo Nott had saved his life.

Draco Malfoy was…Ron had no idea what Malfoy was, whether he was a traitor or had just
capitalized on the situation to buy himself and Hermione some time, but there was one thing Ron
did know.

He knew that he’d be alright, eventually…but if Malfoy was actually in on it like he’d let on…

He was sure Hermione wouldn’t be.

The last thing he saw before the darkness took over was the beautiful blue hue of Daphne’s eyes as
she looked down on him, grasping his hand in hers.

Chapter End Notes

Hello my lovely readers! We're getting closer to the end, what do you think of this chapter?
Surprise??? Haha please don't kill me!

What do you think is going to happen??

Until next time my lovely readers (which will hopefully be very soon),
Kristen :)
 Chapter 38
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

July 8 2005

Draco chased Hermione away from the scene before him, the curses and hexes still ringing through
the hazy air.

Their bond had cut off the moment Hermione had stepped into that ritual circle, and suddenly he
couldn’t follow the wafting haze of colorful emotions she’d left in her wake.

The moment she’d disappeared from the DMLE he’d followed the trail she left behind, her scent a
concoction of flowery sugar that he was sure he’d brew up in an Amortentia one day.

“Hermione!”

She dodged a hex flung her way but Draco had already sent a counter-curse, effectively cutting it
off at the source.

His dagger was slowly making its way through the battling Death Eaters still gathered, and due to
the Anti-Apparition wards most likely still in place, they were all falling victim to the dark magic
imbued within the steel of it, forged centuries ago for a detestable relative which was finally being
used for the greater good.

A fitting beginning to pay for its crimes in years past, Draco thought. It had started in the hands of
dark Wizards, and it would now be used to end them.

Now, if only he could get his witch to slow down so he could fucking explain to her what had
actually happened instead of the story she’d most likely spun in that big brain of hers the moment
she saw him as he stepped through the Atrium of the Department of Mysteries and into the fray of a
mess of epic proportions, and of course the Weasel was right in the middle of it.

He was surprised Boy Wonder wasn’t right there along with them, self-sacrificial as he was. He
hated him for allowing that trait to rub off on his witch, but he’d watched and waited, allowing the
information to flow freely from Greyback.

Fucking idiot—the beast hadn’t even known the identity of who he was taking orders from. They
had most likely set up an anonymous information line, but that was neither here nor there.

No, Draco’s current objective was to hunt down his witch and make her see reason, no matter the
cost.

He’d just caught sight of her turning the corner and grabbed onto the hem of her robes, her body
spinning around to face him with her hand arcing upwards to clip his chin but he took the blow and
caught her wrist in his, easily grasping her other and slamming her into the wall behind her.

“Malfoy, don’t you dare—”

“Are we really back to that, Darling? Surely—”

“Don’t you ‘Darling’ me! I heard what you said! You just stood there while I—while he…it’s
gone!”

Her face crumpled and her emotions were rapidly changing with each breath she took—Draco
could see the black tinged fear mixed with the navy blue of sorrow bleeding into scarlet passionate,
angry red.

“I know, I know. But he’s alive, and so are you. I had to do what I had to do in order to make sure
you walked out of that situation alive.”

“You had to do it? You had to…to—”

“I didn’t betray you, Hermione. I didn’t betray anyone. I merely walked into the trap, same as you.
I stood there and allowed Greyback to make his assumptions of me, to allow you and the Weasel
and everyone else that I was still the evil little prat I’d once been in order to assess the situation—to
wait for the perfect in. The fact that he was incompetent enough to believe just about anyone was
their mysterious benefactor slipping them information from the Ministry was just another added
bonus. If anything, I should be angry with you for how you acted.”

Her chest rose rapidly, irises bleeding into black as her aura pulsed and swirled—burgundy, scarlet
wine, deep, bleeding red.

“I knew what I was fucking doing, Draco! I knew they had Ron and Robards, and I also knew that I
had ample opportunity to kill the fucking beast that hurt me more than even your Aunt did in the
war. I wanted to be the one to kill him, and then you walked in upending everything, and you have
the nerve to sit there and—”

“Yes, yes, it’s all my fucking fault for saving your life! Well, color me sorry for thinking you’d
even thank me for stepping in.”

“If it hadn’t been for that damned ritual circle—”

Draco slammed his hand on the wall beside her head, but she didn’t flinch, only stared at him with
those fiery eyes filled with adrenaline and pain that he was desperate to take away from her.

“What, then you would’ve singlehandedly taken down over eighteen Death Eaters? Hermione, you
can’t rush into danger this way, just because you think you’re well equipped for anything on your
own!”

“I wasn’t thinking, alright? It was like…like I was back in the war, at Hogwarts and I’d just learned
Harry was dead. I wasn’t thinking about it being a trap, because everything always was! I wasn’t
thinking that I didn’t have backup or that I would probably die going into it, because that was just
the reality I’d come to accept. I’ve been dying for so long it didn’t seem wrong to just want to
accept it.”

“Hermione…” Draco began, tilting his head against hers until their breaths mingled in the space
between them and he shuddered when her small hands wrapped themselves up in the fabric of his
robes by his neck, the rest of the world fading away into nothingness.

“Why did you run from me? Did you really think me so capable of being your villain?”
The scent of her tears infiltrated the space between them and he reached up to brush them from her
cheeks.

“I just stole it from him, his magic. I couldn’t—”

“Shh, Darling, it’s alright. He’ll forgive you.”

“How could he? How can I forgive myself? Why do I even care after all he’s done to me? I—and
you just stood there and let it happen! How could you—”

“Granger, I’d let the entire fucking world burn just to make sure you’re safe. If it meant buying me
a little bit more time to come up with a plan to get you out of there safely, I would’ve let you steal
all of the magic from every Wizard in this fucking building to make that happen.”

“And if Ron had died? Robards?”

“I don’t know how to make it more clear to you, Hermione. You are my sole priority, and fuck
anyone else who gets in my way of keeping you.”

He then decided to drive his point home by slamming his lips against hers, the taste of her tears
mingling with the smoke still hanging in the air. The sounds of the battle faded into a blur as
Hermione drew in a deep breath and responded in kind, her fingers unwrapping from his robes to
curl up into his hair.

Draco moaned low into her mouth at the action, skimming his hands down to her hips and
wrapping her legs around his waist, pinning her to the wall as his mouth traveled down to her neck,
soaking up the sounds she couldn’t keep quiet even if she tried.

She was panting into his ear as he carved a path of kisses and bites up the side of her neck until he
found his way back to her mouth, his hand coming up to grip her chin roughly, his thumb and
forefinger forcing her jaw open wide as he licked his way into her mouth, his tongue overtaking her
own as his need for her pushed him to go farther, faster, stronger.

He had to show her his desperation, his need for her that nothing could dissipate.

A blow against the wall startled her as she pulled away but Draco did not relent, hand wrapping
around her neck to tilt her head back up to meet his insistent, fervent kisses.

“Draco—shouldn’t we…”

“How many times do I have to tell you, Granger? Fuck. Them. Fuck everyone else who isn’t you or
me in this moment, because if you have doubts about me or this bond between us then I won’t
hesitate to keep you here all night up against this wall just to fucking prove my commitment to
you.”

That seemed to do the trick, as immediately following his words she was responding in kind to his
touch, and he was glad she’d chosen a tight little dress to wear underneath her robes that morning.

She’d lost her shoes sometime in the confrontation with Greyback and the ritual with the Weasel
which meant less outerwear for him to have to peel off.

He reached his hand in the folds of her robes, prepared to rip her stockings from the top seam but
groaned into her hair at the feel of her bare thighs.
“No stockings today? Naughty girl, Granger. Very naughty.”

He tsk’d at her provocative choice of thigh-highs and traced the sensitive skin at the apex of her
thighs, watching as she came unraveled beneath his fingertips by just a few simple skimming
touches.

“Draco…”

“Such a dirty girl, but you want to be good for me, don’t you Darling?”

She was a breathless, needy thing—a beautiful fucking mess melting in his arms, and he was going
to enjoy every single minute of taking her against the wall where anyone could walk past.

It was a primal need inside of him, desperate to mark her as his, to make sure the rest of the world
wouldn’t dare to touch what was his.

She was his, and nothing and no one was going to take her away from him.

“Y-yes…”

“Hm? What was that? I couldn’t quite catch that.”

She whined and writhed her hips against him, a breath catching in his throat at the action but he
kept steady, his grip iron tight on her body as she whimpered and groaned against his lips on her
neck.

“Yes, I—I want to be good!”

He chuckled in her ear.

“Then you’d best be quiet, or we’ll be found out before we can give you what you need. Hold onto
me, Hermione, and don’t let go.”

She did as he bid and he couldn’t help the smile on his face at the sight of her undulating and
unraveling before him, losing herself just for him.

“There you go, I knew you’d be so good for me Darling.”

She sighed beneath his praise as her aura transformed into a thick fog of lustful purple and
passionate pink, a tinge of sparkling gold at the edges.

His fingers pulled her knickers to the side as his two digits slid inside of her and she clenched
around them, a deep groan filtering past his lips at the action.

She was so fucking wet.

He licked his lips as she threw her head back against the wall, desperate as she rode him for all he
was worth.

He pumped inside of her a few times then slowed down before withdrawing his fingers completely,
rubbing their wetness on her sensitive clit.

“Draco…”
“Aw, you whine my name so prettily, Darling.”

She shamelessly pulsed her hips against his fingers.

“Is this what you need?”

He plunged his fingers inside her unceremoniously, a muffled scream erupting from her throat as he
did so, and the smirk that the sound drew to his lips could only be described as wickedly pleased.

“Shh, shh Darling. Don’t want anyone coming to interrupt us. Can you be quiet for me?”

She nodded immediately and he pulled his other hand towards her face, sticking out his middle and
pointer finger out towards her.

“How about a little help to keep you quiet then, Love? Suck.”

She wrapped her pretty little lips around his fingers and he pressed them down into her mouth onto
her tongue, satisfied when her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she threw herself back
against the wall once more, drool gathering around the seam of her lips as her tongue flicked
against his digits.

He picked up his pace with his fingers when he felt her tightening ever so slightly against him, her
hips keeping up a riotous pace against his hand until the dam broke inside of her and she began
spasming all over his fingers.

Her muffled cries were drowned out by his fingers in his mouth and he quickly withdrew from her
sopping wetness to unfasten his trousers one handed, palming himself in one smooth motion before
sliding into her warm depths.

The relief was immediate, their intense need for each other drowned out by the sounds of
explosions and Aurors arriving on the scene while Draco and Hermione fucked the rest of the
world away, uncaring of anything other than each other and the precipice of everything they were
teetering on.

He pulled his fingers from her mouth and roughly gripped her neck in his grasp before pulling her
lips to his.

“Oh—”

“That’s it, Granger. Give it to me.”

She was exquisite slick silk around him, squeezing and sucking, inviting him into her warm depths.

“Yessss….”

“Look at you—my dirty little witch taking it up against a wall in the Ministry. You’re being so
good for me.”

She moaned particularly loud at that little admonition and Draco smiled widely at her reaction,
loving how responsive she was to him and his words.

He felt himself draw up quickly and he pulled her head to his, locking her eyes on his own.
“You’re such a good girl, aren’t you Hermione?”

“Y-yes.”

“Then I want you to do something for me. Can you do that?”

She nodded her head, their grip loosening on each other as Draco’s thrusts grew frantic, slamming
her up against the wall repeatedly, hips stuttering and pulsating.

“I need you to come for me again, Darling. You’re close, I know you are. Come for me,
Hermione.”

Her eyes glazed over at his demand and she squeezed and squeezed until he was sure he was going
to give out before her, but he wanted one more, wanted to wring that passion out of her little body
and make sure there wasn’t a shadow of a doubt within her mind that she was his—that she
belonged to him just as surely as he did to her.

“I can’t—it’s too much—”

His hand whipped up and grasped her chin within it, using it to tilt her head so that her eyes
couldn’t look anywhere but into his own.

“You can, and you will. Come, now.”

Something in his tone must’ve forced her into obeying his will, and soon she was clenching around
him and pressing fingernail-shaped cuts into the skin of his neck where she held onto him for dear
life and then she was coming all around him, her wetness spurting out of her in a wave that slid
down her legs where they were joined together and slicked up his cock enough for him to lose his
focus and explode inside of her at the same exact time.

Draco felt compelled to lean down and bite his mark on her neck, and he felt her nuzzle into him as
she did the same.

As the sparks from the battle around them faded and the smoke cleared, Draco gazed deep into
Hermione’s eyes and the mark on her neck glowed with a golden illuminating hue, not dissimilar to
the aura pulsing gold around her body.

Her mark was tinted red with blood, and he knew that the force of her bite had drawn blood on him
as well, but he couldn’t find it within himself to care.

“You’re fucking mine, Granger. Nothing and no one is taking you away from me, do you
understand that? I love you.”

She flicked her eyes up to him and the panic and adrenaline that had been there before were gone.
She looked sated and well and truly fucked, but there was a brightness there in her that hadn’t been
there before.

Her eyes were resolute and clear, and he watched as his words descended over her.

To his surprise, she didn’t flinch or shy away from him at them. No, instead, a blinding smile slid
onto her face.

“I—yes. I love you, too.”

 He delved in to give her another smooth, sweet kiss to seal their proclamations to each other,
making it known that as much as he owned her heart, she held the same title over his own.

It wasn’t until footsteps sounded nearby that Draco pulled away from her and had just set her down
on the ground when Boy Wonder came skittering around the corner.

“Hermione? Malfoy? I—are you alright? Ron told me what happened, but you—wait, why are you
glowing?”

Hermione took one look at Draco and grimaced.

Draco could only see Hermione’s aura, just as he could see with Potter’s, but there was something
bone white shining on the edges of her golden aura. Something that looked like the haze of a full
moon’s glow.

Potter sighed and shook his head.

“Come on, you have to make statements. There’s…a lot you two need to fill in.”

That was an understatement.

When Hermione and Draco didn’t immediately move to follow him and stayed in their hunched
positions by the wall, however, Potter rolled his eyes and threw his hands in the air.

“I don’t get paid enough for this. Follow me when you two…straighten yourselves up. For Merlin’s
sake—there was a battle in the Ministry and you two are getting your rock’s off.”

Draco snickered at Potter’s discomfort and grasped Hermione’s hand in his once she set herself to
rights.

‘I love you’, he mouthed to her silently, and she did the same.

No matter what they would face—backlash from the press for what Hermione was able to do from
her friend, her lingering trauma from the war, Draco’s reluctance to open up emotionally—they
would face it together.

Together—it was all Draco would ever need.

Chapter End Notes

Hello my lovelies!

I hope you didn't think I'd leave you hanging like that without a proper explanation or
conclusion. The final chapters are shaping up and this story is almost done! Keep an eye on
this space for the epilogue and any bonus chapters behind the scenes of Draco and Hermione's
life afterward!

Please let me know what you think and what you have thought of this story so far, it's truly
been so wonderful to share my first full length fic with you all, and the support and love it's
received has truly made me feel so grateful and I couldn't have asked for a more supportive
community to share my work with!

Let me know if you want more stories in the future!

Until next time my lovely readers,

Kristen :)
 Chapter 39
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

July 8, 2005

Draco hadn't let her off his lap the entire time.

Not to get up and go to another room to give their statements, originally meant to be separately
conducted.

Not to write a few missives and correspondence to the appropriate channels, not to coordinate a
press response, not for anything.

His arm was safely secured around her waist, and she was loathe to let him go.

"Erm, Hermione. Your neck is bleeding, were you hit with a curse? I can take a look at that for
you."

Hermione looked to Padma, her brown eyes full of concern and nodded her head quickly.

"Love, it's not from a curse."

Hermione turned her head to Draco and found a similar wound on his neck.

She flushed bright red at the reminder of what, exactly, had caused such a mark.

"Actually Pads, it's fine."

Her friend and Healer furrowed her eyebrows in skepticism before glancing at Draco's neck as
well, her eyes widening in understanding.

She did understand the Pureblood customs, after all, considering her family heritage, even if she
wasn't Sacred Twenty-Eight.

As she edged away from Draco and Hermione and the few sets of eyes that had been on them for
the conversation left them, Draco nudged his nose to her ear, inhaling her scent as if it could calm
him somehow.

"Good for steering her away. I know she's your friend, but I might've killed someone if they'd
touched my mark on your skin."

"The bites...they didn't damage the mark, did they? I quite like the snake on my neck."

She glimpsed at her handiwork on Draco's own neck, the Phoenix still shining and dancing
amongst the lower lights of the conference room in the DMLE and noted with great satisfaction
that it was using the wound like an improvised art piece, little flames arcing around the angry red
mark that had bled from the force of her bite.
Draco's mouth met hers after the proprietary gleam in her eyes set him off, and she shivered under
the taste of his honey golden love, the sugared cherry taste of his desire crashing into her like
slamming waves on ocean rocks.

She had just wound her hands through his hair, the rest of the world falling around them when the
sound of someone loudly clearing their throat reached her ears.

"Hey now, none of that, not again! We're not through here."

Hermione yanked herself from Draco's mouth and gave a sheepish smile to Harry who could only
sigh in exasperation.

"I just wanted to let you know that you were right about your suspicions, Hermione."

Every Auror in the room perked up at that.

"Just which suspicion was that? I do have quite a few of them."

"You could say that again," someone mumbled from the corner but they were quickly hushed.

"Patil, Corner, Nott...would you mind giving us a moment? The rest of what I need to go over is
classified."

Since those three were the only ones not allowed clearance, they didn't put up a fight, even despite
the fact that Theo already knew what it was that Harry was going to discuss--if Ron had truly lost
all of his magic or not.

Hermione had been thinking about the ritual quite a bit in the some odd hours that had passed since
they'd taken his unconscious body to St. Mungo's.

The ritual was designed to expel the dark magic from one's body and leave them clean and pure
once more.

But what would happen when there was hardly a trace of dark magic to be found at all?

Ron had cast some morally grey, or even a few dark spells, but that had never been the majority
like the Death Eaters she'd been siphoning from.

No, they had all been chalk full of the poisonous magic that crept into one's soul and bled it dry
from the inside out.

It was why Hermione had so much of a crash after siphoning--it was because she was quite literally
cleansing their souls, giving them a fresh start, taking all of their evil inside so that they could be
wiped clean.

It had given her pause--enough to ask Harry to check in on Ron immediately after the Healers
giving their report.

"The Healers at Mungo's looked over Ron, scanned his magical signature, ran multiple different
magic-detection spells, and the results are back. There is absolutely no lasting damage to his
magic."

Draco stiffened beneath her but did not comment.

Another Auror in the department that she didn't have much contact with as he was in charge of
relocating the Death Eaters who had lost their magic spoke up then.

"But how is that possible? If Granger siphoned his magic?"

"Because I didn't siphon all of his magic," she ground out, voice hoarse.

"I siphoned what little bit of dark magic he had in his system. The Death Eaters...they were full
Dark Wizards, their magic intrinsically changed on a molecular level, so much so that it would be
impossible for them to perform a simple Leviosa without some of their darkness leaching in. The
ritual siphons the dark magic, not just from one's magical core, but from their soul itself. Ron
might not be the best person in the entire world, but a Dark Wizard he is not. Ron has never killed
anyone with magic, nor tortured, nor cursed. There was simply barely any dark magic at all to
siphon."

Draco's arms wrapped around her even tighter, as if gluing her to his side.

The others looked on in awe of what had happened, Harry the most shell-shocked of them all it
seemed.

"Alright, well, I guess that solves that question. Now, we've got quite a few Death Eaters in the
dungeons ready to squeal and an old boss to go and visit. Any takers?"

Hermione's eyes shimmered with hatred for what Robards had done, and if Harry was giving free
rein?

"Um, Harry? Could I possibly volunteer?"

It was the first time she'd ever seen her best friend so eager to make sure someone was punished,
except for maybe the Umbridge situation.

"He did poison me and try to kill me, after all."

"Malfoy, you go with her, yeah?"

Hermione's heart jumped in her chest at the forethought.

Of course, she would've asked anyway for Draco to come with her, but for her best friend to know
and already be able to anticipate her needs and not question the bond she had with him? It was
everything.

They'd all dispersed with whispers and questions as to what was going to come next, but they all
avoided the Atrium that was surely filled to the brim with press as they made their way down to the
dungeons where the prisoners were being held.

What little prisoners were left, that is, especially after the fatally fantastic job Draco's blade had
done on them.

"You sure you want to do this Darling? You can't siphon him right now on Potter's orders.

Harry had personally interrogated Robards upon first capturing him, but in the madness he hadn't
been able to devote his full time and attention to everything.
With the amount of Aurors who'd been loyal to Robards either fleeing or fighting, it wasn't too hard
to deduce who'd been the ones leaking information to the remaining Death Eaters, but there could
still have been a few lying around in wait, so needless to say the V that had been mass produced in
the Department of Mysteries after learning about it was going to be put to good use in determining
who was loyal to Harry and the Ministry and who was still trying to stand with Robards.

"Oh, I absolutely want to do this."

And maybe she wouldn't even want to siphon magic anymore.

After all, she was healed and all the remaining Death Eaters had been captured, and with the Anti-
Apparition wards in the building, it wasn't hard to catch all of them in one big round-up.

They approached his cell where he sat with one arm resting upon a cocked knee, his bloody mouth
upturned into a sneer.

"Come to be my judge, jury and executioner, Miss Granger?"

His gravelly voice was so unlike her boss that she had to do a double-take. She even began to
wonder if this was some other Death Eater disguised in Polyjuice, but no, it had been far too long
since his arrest and the effects would surely have worn off by now.

"I would say it's nice to see you Gawain but unfortunately I cannot do that under these
circumstances."

"Come to steal my magic then, Pet?"

Hermione shivered while Draco growled lowly behind her, his threat not needing to be verbalized
for the Wizard to understand his intentions if he put even one toe out of line when it came to
speaking to his betrothed.

"Just came for some answers, Gawain. Play nicely and I might even let you keep your magic, not
that you'll be able to use it in Azkaban for the rest of your life."

"What, no sending me away as some bedraggled Muggle?"

His voice upon speaking that last word made it sound derogatory, like something Draco's father
would have spewed once upon a time, like in her Second Year at Flourish and Blotts with the
Weasleys.

"I think you'll find there's fates worse than ending up as a clueless Muggle, safe and well cared for,
even after all your crimes."

Draco's voice rumbled behind Hermione's back and she leaned on him for support, even if she
might not have needed it, it didn't mean that she didn't want it.

"Please. Just hurry up and ship me off to Azkaban, would you? The sight of the two of you
together is making me nauseous."

"And why is that, exactly? Still subscribing to the old beliefs? You're not even Sacred Twenty-
Eight!"
"But he is! He had everything within his grasp, and he squandered it for you! He tied his soul to a
Mudblood for all eternity for a job! How does that make you feel, Miss Granger, that Draco
Malfoy shackled himself to you forever out of duty and pity and guilt for what his family had done
to you in the past, and now he can't even tell if his feelings are real, or created out of the bond.
How does that feel? Does it sting, just a bit?"

Hermione didn't even have time to rebut that point or to allow his stinging barbs to penetrate her
skin when Draco stood from out behind her and stepped in front of her, his body shielding her from
her old boss.

"Perhaps if you were half as good at Legilimency as you thought you were, you'd have read the
thoughts clear as day in my mind the first time you spoke to me about Granger in the first place.
You would've seen that it wasn't the job, or some kind of sick sense of guilt for the past that made
me fall in love with her, and it certainly wasn't the fucking bond. That connection didn't even snap
into place until after the first half dozen rituals, but it's not like we need to explain ourselves to
you. Half the staff is either dating or married to Half-Bloods or Muggleborns. What, did it hurt,
Robards? Being the only one left out, on the outside looking in? Must hurt, being so lonely all the
time."

Robards snarled and jumped up in his cell but could only make it halfway to the bars before the
wards locked in and gave him a synthesized electrical shock, causing him to rear back in pain and
fear.

"I contacted Greyback after it all fell, and we've slowly been building our ranks. We number in the
hundreds. We won't waste this chance like our predecessor, the filthy Half-Blood who claimed to
be the catalyst for purity once and for all, while mocking our beliefs as a Half-Blood? How dare
he! We're going to show the world what it means. Malfoy, you really should've known better.
Your family motto spells it out for you, after all: Sanctimonia Vincet Semper. Purity Will Always
Conquer."

Draco merely stared at him with half-lidded eyes and a bored look on his face, though his aura
tasted of lemony smoke, his irritation catching fire.

"Right, well, I was meaning to get around to changing that, anyway."

Robards blanced as he realized he wasn't getting anywhere with them.

"What do you want, then?"

"Names."

Hermione watched as he recoiled back into the shadows.

"In exchange for what, exactly?"

Hermione hadn't been given implicit details as to what she could promise Robards, but without the
binding agent like an Unbreakable Vow, anything she promised him would be null and void the
moment she walked out the door.

Still, she couldn't make it seem like they were all empty promises.
"I can promise you a lifetime in Azkaban, without the threat of the Dementor's Kiss if you remain
on good behavior during your sentence."

"That's all?"

Hermione scoffed at his ungratefulness--she could have had him killed twice over by then.

She cooled her expression and thought like a snake--the symbol now residing on her skin.

"Tell you what...I'll go to Harry and ask for him to allow me to release you once I siphon your
magic. I won't siphon it all, though. I'll leave just enough for you to get by, and I will make sure
your memories aren't wiped."

"And how are you going to guarantee this to me?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure your replacement is about to name me as either his second-in-command
permanently, or offer me a joint position with him. So, I'd say I have quite a bit of authority to
guarantee this to you."

Robards' smile was inky and dark and he soon opened his mouth and spilled his secrets like smoke.

***

Twelve hours later and Hermione was finally back home in her bed, Draco's arms wrapped all snug
and protective around her waist.

They'd busted fifteen more Aurors who had been attempting to pretend to still be on the right side
of things, but after Robards' confessions and subsequent questioning under V, their treason came to
light.

Harry had been swamped and pleaded with Hermione and Draco to help him take over the
department to clear things up and get started on the press circus that was well and truly under way.

It was going to be a long six months ahead of them as far as rebuilding trust in the public and
figuring out what they were going to do with an entire department to themselves.

Hermione had been right, too--Harry had immediately offered her the job to join him as the head of
the department. It wasn't a hard decision to say yes in the moment, but made sure to note that they
would revisit in six months when the dust had settled.

She had only really stayed in the DMLE for so long because of her condition, but her real drive and
goals rested in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and then from
there crafting legislation.
She had only just begun thinking of what good could come of her newfound free time not actively
spent trying to search for ways to survive the poison in her arm when Draco dipped his hands
beneath her shirt and all thoughts of anything aside from him flew from her mind.

"Stop thinking."

His mouth was at her ear and then on her throat and then she did as he told her, and stopped
thinking altogether.

She let his tongue inside her mouth as she sighed into him, lazily rolling over until she rocked into
his hips and gasped as he bit her lip.

Her hips jumped at the action and he chuckled into her mouth.

"Dirty girl, loving it when I bite you?"

She moaned as his lips abandoned her mouth and trailed down to her neck, whining and
whimpering in need and want and everything she never thought she would get to have as he made
her fall apart on his fingers as they delved below the blankets and found her wet and desperate for
his touch.

"Fuck I love the way you whine for me, Darling."

She shamelessly rocked her hips into his hands and sought out his mouth, but the friction wasn't
enough, and she was thankful that she hadn't put on knickers with her nightgown for this very
reason.

He pulled himself out of his pants and palmed her entrance as she turned over and jutted her arse
out for him and he hissed when realizing just how wet and ready she really was for him.

"My needy little girl, aren't you?"

She could only gasp in surprise and slight pain as he lined himself up and swiftly entered her, his
mouth resting near her ear as he gripped her tightly around the waist and held her to him as he
fucked her, his movements smooth and languid as liquid heat built up inside her core already for
him, her breaths coming out in short pants with him winding his way around her just as he had
done to her heart and her very soul.

"Draco--"

"That's it, Darling, you're doing so well for me."

He reached around and pressed the tips of his fingers to her center, rubbing her there until she was
arching her back in pleasure and want that cascaded over her body and rolled over her in waves.

"I'm going to--"

"Shh, shh, I know, I know. You can hold it off, just a little longer baby," he intoned onto her skin,
his words soaking into her blood and bones as he drew his ragged hips from her and slammed right
back in, the force of the thrusts knocking her body back and forth.

The thought of holding it in and not letting the orgasm crash around her was excruciating but she
held on for him--held onto the cinnamon passion taste lingering on her tongue, the honey coating
 over the almost too-sweet cherry bite of his desire.

"Be a good girl and don't come Hermione. Can you do that?"

He picked up the pace and tore his hand from her center just as she began contracting, the loss of
contact forcing a cry of frustration out of her, but he simply held her there on the precipice, his
hand going to her throat to hold her in place as he pounded into her relentlessly.

"That's it Darling, just like that. Hold it--"

He hissed out through his teeth as his movements became jerkier and less intent and right as he
groaned his own release he brought his hand back down to her center and voraciously attacked her
with the pads of his fingers, the cry of her orgasm filling the room as she rode it out on him, her
hips bucking and twitching with the strength of it all.

Well, if she wasn't exhausted before that then she certainly was now.

He trailed a finger down the skin of her cheek as she turned into his body, his arms never once
leaving her.

"I love you, Darling."

She sighed contentedly, the adrenaline quickly fading from her body.

"I love you, too Draco."

She was too tired to go to the bathroom and clean up, so she was more than grateful for the silent
wordless charm he produced to clean them both up.

She laid her head in the crook of his arm and fell asleep to the sound of his soft breathing and the
promise of what tomorrow--and the rest of their lives--would hold.

Chapter End Notes

Hello my lovely readers!

Thank you so much for sticking with this story, it’s been a wild ride!!

One more chapter left—the epilogue!!

I can’t wait for you to read it and thank you for all your kind comments and words of
motivation for me to keep writing!!

More stories coming from me in the future so keep an eye on my profile!

As always,
Until next time my lovely readers,
Kristen :)
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